The 


ta 


ZANE  GREY 


[Seo  pajje  140 


PEG      WARD'S      DAY 


BY 

ZANE  GREY 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  YOUNG  FORESTER, 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER, 
KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Published    by  Arrangement  with  Harper  &  Brothers 
Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT    1011.    BY    HARPER    A    BROTHERS 
PRINTED   IN   THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 

K-W 


SRU- 
URL 

5149741 


CONTENTS 

PAG* 

I.  THE  VARSITY  CAPTAIN .  i 

II.  A  GREAT  ARM »    -,    .  12 

III.  PRISONER  OF  THE  SOPHS 24 

IV.  THE  CALL  FOR  CANDIDATES 34 

V.  THE  CAGE 44 

VI.  OUT  ON  THE  FIELD 56 

VII.  ANNIHILATION 69 

VIII.  EXAMINATIONS 84 

IX.  PRESIDENT  HALSTEAD  ON  COLLEGE  SPIRIT  95 

X.  NEW  PLAYERS 102 

XI.  STATE  UNIVERSITY  GAME 114 

XII.  KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 129 

XIII.  FRIENDSHIP 145 

XIV.  THE  HERNE  GAME 158 

XV.  A  MATTER  OF  PRINCIPLE 180 

XVI.  THE  FIRST  PLACE  GAME 198 

XVII.  KEN'S  DAY 219 

XVIII.  BREAKING  TRAINING 241 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 


THE   VARSITY  CAPTAIN 

KEN  WARD  had  not  been  at  the  big  univer- 
sity many  days  before  he  realized  the  miser- 
able lot  of  a  freshman. 

At  first  he  was  sorely  puzzled.  College  was 
so  different  from  what  he  had  expected.  At  the 
high  school  of  his  home  town,  which,  being  the 
capital  of  the  State,  was  no  village,  he  had  been 
somebody.  Then  his  summer  in  Arizona,  with  its 
wild  adventures,  had  given  him  a  self- apprecia- 
tion which  made  his  present  situation  humiliating. 

There  were  more  than  four  thousand  students 
at  the  university.  Ken  felt  himself  the  youngest, 
the  smallest,  the  one  of  least  consequence.  He 
was  lost  in  a  shuffle  of  superior  youths.  In  the 
forestry  department  he  was  a  mere  boy;  and  he 
soon  realized  that  a  freshman  there  was  the  same 
as  anywhere.  The  fact  that  he  weighed  nearly 

i 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  and  was  no  strip- 
ling, despite  his  youth,  made  not  one  whit  of 
difference. 

Unfortunately,  his  first  overture  of  what  he 
considered  good-fellowship  had  been  made  to  an 
upper-classman,  and  had  been  a  grievous  mistake. 
Ken  had  not  yet  recovered  from  its  reception. 
He  grew  careful  after  that,  then  shy,  and  finally 
began  to  struggle  against  disappointment  and 
loneliness. 

Outside  of  his  department,  on  the  campus  and 
everywhere  he  ventured,  he  found  things  still 
worse.  There  was  something  wrong  with  him, 
with  his  fresh  complexion,  with  his  hair,  with  the 
way  he  wore  his  tie,  with  the  cut  of  his  clothes. 
In  fact,  there  was  nothing  right  about  him.  He 
had  been  so  beset  that  he  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing but  himself.  One  day,  while  sauntering  along 
a  campus  path,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he 
met  two  students  coming  toward  him.  They  went 
to  right  and  left,  and,  jerking  his  hands  from  his 
pockets,  roared  in  each  ear,  "How  dare  you 
walk  with  your  hands  in  your  pockets!" 

Another  day,  on  the  library  step,  he  encountered 
a  handsome  bareheaded  youth  with  a  fine,  clean- 
cut  face  and  keen  eyes,  who  showed  the  true 
stamp  of  the  great  university. 

"Here,"  he  said,  sharply,  "aren't  you  a  fresh- 
man?" 


THE    VARSITY    CAPTAIN 

"Why — yes,"  confessed  Ken. 

"I  see  you  have  your  trousers  turned  up  at  the 
bottom." 

"Yes — so  I  have."  For  the  life  of  him  Ken 
could  not  understand  why  that  simple  fact  seemed 
a  crime,  but  so  it  was. 

"Turn  them  down!"  ordered  the  student. 

Ken  looked  into  the  stern  face  and  flashing 
eyes  of  his  tormentor,  and  then  meekly  did  as  he 
had  been  commanded. 

"Boy,  I've  saved  your  life.  We  murder  fresh- 
men here  for  that,"  said  the  student,  and  then 
passed  on  up  the  steps. 

In  the  beginning  it  was  such  incidents  as  these 
that  had  bewildered  Ken.  He  passed  from  sur- 
prise to  anger,  and  vowed  he  would  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  these  upper-classmen.  But  when 
the  opportunity  came  Ken  always  felt  so  little  and 
mean  that  he  could  not  retaliate.  This  made  him 
furious.  He  had  not  been  in  college  two  weeks 
before  he  could  distinguish  the  sophomores  from 
the  seniors  by  the  look  on  their  faces.  He  hated 
the  sneering  "Sophs,"  and  felt  rising  in  him  the 
desire  to  fight.  But  he  both  feared  and  admired 
seniors.  They  seemed  so  aloof,  so  far  above  him. 
He  was  in  awe  of  them,  and  had  a  hopeless  longing 
to  be  like  them.  And  as  for  the  freshmen,  it  took 
no  second  glance  for  Ken  to  pick  them  out.  They 
were  of  two  kinds — those  who  banded  together  in 

3 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

crowds  and  went  about  yelling,  and  running 
away  from  the  Sophs,  and  those  who  sneaked 
about  alone  with  timid  step  and  furtive  glance. 

Ken  was  one  of  these  lonesome  freshmen.  He 
was  pining  for  companionship,  but  he  was  afraid 
to  open  his  lips.  Once  he  had  dared  to  go  into 
Carlton  Hall,  the  magnificent  club-house  which  had 
been  given  to  the  university  by  a  famous  graduate. 
The  club  was  for  all  students— Ken  had  read  that 
on  the  card  sent  to  him,  and  also  in  the  papers. 
But  manifestly  the  upper-classmen  had  a  different 
point  of  view.  Ken  had  gotten  a  glimpse  into  the 
immense  reading-room  with  its  open  fireplace  and 
huge  chairs,  its  air  of  quiet  study  and  repose;  he 
had  peeped  into  the  brilliant  billiard-hall  and  the 
gymnasium;  and  he  had  been  so  impressed  and 
delighted  with  the  marble  swimming- tank  that  he 
had  forgotten  himself  and  walked  too  near  the 
pool.  Several  students  accidentally  bumped  him 
into  it.  It  appeared  the  students  were  so  eager  to 
help  him  out  that  they  crowded  him  in  again. 
When  Ken  finally  got  out  he  learned  the  remark- 
able fact  that  he  was  the  sixteenth  freshman  who 
had  been  accidentally  pushed  into  the  tank  that 
day. 

So  Ken  Ward  was  in  a  state  of  revolt.  He  was 
homesick;  he  was  lonely  for  a  friend;  he  was  con- 
stantly on  the  lookout  for  some  trick;  his  confi- 
dence in  himself  had  fled;  his  opinion  of  himself 

4 


THE    VARSITY    CAPTAIN 

had  suffered  a  damaging  change;  he  hardly  dared 
call  his  soul  his  own. 

But  that  part  of  his  time  spent  in  study  or  at- 
tending lectures  more  than  made  up  for  the  other. 
Ken  loved  his  subject  and  was  eager  to  learn.  He 
had  a  free  hour  in  the  afternoon,  and  often  he 
passed  this  in  the  library,  sometimes  in  the  dif- 
ferent exhibition  halls.  He  wanted  to  go  into 
Carlton  Club  again,  but  his  experience  there  made 
him  refrain. 

One  afternoon  at  this  hour  Ken  happened  to 
glance  into  a  lecture-room.  It  was  a  large  amphi- 
theatre full  of  noisy  students.  The  benches  were 
arranged  in  a  circle  running  up  from  a  small  pit. 
Seeing  safety  in  the  number  of  students  who  were 
passing  in,  Ken  went  along.  He  thought  he  might 
hear  an  interesting  lecture.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  he  did  not  belong  there.  The  university 
had  many  departments  and  he  felt  that  any  lecture- 
room  was  open  to  him.  Still,  caution  had  become 
a  habit  with  him,  and  he  stepped  down  the  steep 
aisle  looking  for  an  empty  bench. 

How  steep  the  aisle  was!  The  benches  ap- 
peared to  be  on  the  side  of  a  hill.  Ken  slipped 
into  an  empty  one.  There  was  something  warm 
and  pleasant  in  the  close  contact  of  so  many 
students,  in  the  ripple  of  laughter  and  the  murmur 
of  voices.  Ken  looked  about  him  with  a  feeling 
that  he  was  glad  to  be  there. 

5 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

It  struck  him,  suddenly,  that  the  room  had 
grown  strangely  silent.  Even  the  shuffling  steps 
of  the  incoming  students  had  ceased.  Ken  gazed 
upward  with  a  queer  sense  of  foreboding.  Per- 
haps he  only  imagined  that  all  the  students  above 
were  looking  down  at  him.  Hurriedly  he  glanced 
below.  A  sea  of  faces,  in  circular  rows,  was 
turned  his  way. 

There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  He  was  the  at- 
traction. At  the  same  instant  when  he  prayed  to 
sink  through  the  bench  out  of  sight  a  burning 
anger  filled  his  breast.  What  on  earth  had  he 
done  now  ?  He  knew  it  was  something;  he  felt  it. 
That  quiet  moment  seemed  an  age.  Then  the 
waiting  silence  burst. 

"Fresh  on  fifth!"  yelled  a  student  in  one  of  the 
lower  benches. 

"FRESH  ON  FIFTH!"  bawled  another  at  the  top  of 
his  lungs. 

Ken's  muddled  brain  could  make  little  of  the 
matter.  He  saw  he  was  in  the  fifth  row  of  benches, 
and  that  all  the  way  around  on  either  side  of  him 
the  row  was  empty.  The  four  lower  rows  were 
packed,  and  above  him  students  were  scattered 
all  over.  He  had  the  fifth  row  of  benches  to 
himself. 

"Fresh  on  fifth!" 

Again  the  call  rang  up  from  below.  It  was  re- 
peated, now  from  the  left  of  the  pit  and  then  from 

6 


THE   VARSITY    CAPTAIN 

the  right.  A  student  yelled  it  from  the  first  row 
and  another  from  the  fourth.  It  banged  back  and 
forth.  Not  a  word  came  from  the  upper  part  of 
the  room. 

Ken  sat  up  straight  with  a  very  red  face.  It  was 
his  intention  to  leave  the  bench,  but  embarrassment 
that  was  developing  into  resentment  held  him  fast. 
What  a  senseless  lot  these  students  were!  Why 
could  they  not  leave  him  in  peace  ?  How  foolish 
of  him  to  go  wandering  about  in  strange  lecture- 
rooms! 

A  hand  pressed  Ken's  shoulder.  He  looked 
back  to  see  a  student  bending  down  toward  him. 

"Hang,  Freshie!"  this  fellow  whispered. 

"What's  it  all  about?"  asked  Ken.  "What 
have  I  done,  anyway?  I  never  was  in  here 
before." 

"All  Sophs  down  there.  They  don't  allow 
freshmen  to  go  below  the  sixth  row.  There've 
been  several  rushes  this  term.  And  the  big  one's 
coming.  Hang,  Freshie!  We're  all  with  you." 

"Fresh  on  fifth!"  The  tenor  of  the  cry  had 
subtly  changed.  Good-humored  warning  had 
changed  to  challenge.  It  pealed  up  from  many 
lusty  throats,  and  became  general  all  along  the 
four  packed  rows. 

"  Hans.  Freshie /"  bellowed  a  freshman  from  the 

O' 

topmost  row.  It  was  acceptance  of  the  chal- 
lenge, the  battle-cry  flung  down  to  the  Sophs.  A 

7 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

roar  arose  from  the  pit.  The  freshmen,  out- 
numbering  the  sophomores,  drowned  the  roar  in 
a  hoarser  one.  Then  both  sides  settled  back  in 
ominous  waiting. 

Ken  thrilled  in  all  his  being.  The  freshmen 
were  with  him!  That  roar  told  him  of  united 
strength.  All  in  a  moment  he  had  found  com- 
rades, and  he  clenched  his  fingers  into  the  bench, 
vowing  he  would  hang  there  until  hauled  away. 

"Fresh  on  fifth!"  shouted  a  Soph  in  ringing 
voice.  He  stood  up  in  the  pit  and  stepped  to  the 
back  of  the  second  bench.  "Fresh  on  fifth! 
Watch  me  throw  him  out!" 

He  was  a  sturdily  built  young  fellow  and  bal- 
inced  himself  gracefully  on  the  backs  of  the 
benches,  stepping  up  from  one  to  the  other. 
There  was  a  bold  gleam  in  his  eyes  and  a  smile  on 
his  face.  He  showed  good-natured  contempt  for 
a  freshman  and  an  assurance  that  was  close  to 
authority. 

Ken  sat  glued  to  his  seat  in  mingled  fear  and 
wrath.  Was  he  to  be  the  butt  of  those  overbearing 
sophomores  ?  He  thought  he  could  do  nothing 
but  hang  on  with  all  his  might.  The  ascending 
student  jumped  upon  the  fourth  bench  and,  reach- 
ing up,  laid  hold  of  Ken  with  no  gentle  hands. 
His  grip  was  so  hard  that  Ken  had  difficulty  in 
stifling  a  cry  of  pain.  This,  however,  served  to 
dispel  his  panic  and  make  him  angry  clear  through. 

8 


THE    VARSITY    CAPTAIN 

The  sophomore  pulled  and  tugged  with  all  his 
strength,  yet  he  could  not  dislodge  Ken.  The 
freshmen  howled  gleefully  for  him  to  "Hang! 
hang!" 

Then  two  more  sophomores  leaped  up  to  help 
the  leader.  A  blank  silence  followed  this  move, 
and  all  the  freshmen  leaned  forward  breathlessly. 
There  was  a  sharp  ripping  of  cloth.  Half  of  Ken's 
coat  appeared  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his  assailants. 

Suddenly  Ken  let  go  his  hold,  pushed  one  fellow 
violently,  then  swung  his  fists.  It  might  have  been 
unfair,  for  the  sophomores  were  beneath  him  and 
balancing  themselves  on  the  steep  benches,  but 
Ken  was  too  angry  to  think  of  that.  The  fellow 
he  pushed  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  students  below, 
the  second  slid  out  of  sight,  and  the  third,  who  had 
started  the  fray,  plunged  with  a  crash  into  the  pit. 

The  freshmen  greeted  this  with  a  wild  yell;  the 
sophomores  answered  likewise.  Like  climbing, 
tumbling  apes  the  two  classes  spilled  themselves 
up  and  down  the  benches,  and  those  nearest  Ken 
laid  hold  of  him,  pulling  him  in  opposite  directions. 

Then  began  a  fierce  fight  for  possession  of  luck- 
less Ken.  Both  sides  were  linked  together  by 
gripping  hands.  Ken  was  absolutely  powerless. 
His  clothes  were  torn  to  tatters  in  a  twinkling; 
they  were  soon  torn  completely  off,  leaving  only 
his  shoes  and  socks.  Not  only  was  he  in  danger 
of  being  seriously  injured,  but  students  of  both 

9 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

sides  were  handled  as  fiercely.  A  heavy  trampling 
roar  shook  the  amphitheatre.  As  they  surged  up 
and  down  the  steep  room  benches  were  split.  In. 
the  beginning  the  sophomores  had  the  advantage 
and  the  tug-of-war  raged  near  the  pit  and  all 
about  it.  But  the  superior  numbers  of  the  fresh- 
men began  to  tell.  The  web  of  close-locked 
bodies  slowly  mounted  up  the  room,  smashing  the 
benches,  swaying  downward  now  and  then,  yet 
irresistibly  gaining  ground.  The  yells  of  the 
freshmen  increased  with  the  assurance  of  victory. 
There  was  one  more  prolonged,  straining  struggle, 
then  Ken  was  pulled  away  from  the  sophomores. 
The  wide,  swinging  doors  of  the  room  were 
knocked  flat  to  let  out  the  stream  of  wild  fresh- 
men. They  howled  like  fiends;  it  was  first  blood 
for  the  freshman  class;  the  first  tug  won  that  year. 

Ken  Ward  came  to  his  senses  out  in  the  corri- 
dor surrounded  by  an  excited,  beaming,  and  dis- 
reputable crowd  of  freshmen.  Badly  as  he  was 
hurt,  he  had  to  laugh.  Some  of  them  looked 
happy  in  nothing  but  torn  underclothes.  Others 
resembled  a  lot  of  ragamuffins.  Coats  were  mi- 
nus sleeves,  vests  were  split,  shirts  were  collarless. 
Blood  and  bruises  were  much  in  evidence. 

Some  one  helped  Ken  into  a  long  ulster. 

"Say,  it  was  great,"  said  this  worthy.  "Do 
you  know  who  that  fellow  was — the  first  one  who 
tried  to  throw  you  out  of  number  five  ?" 

10 


THE    VARSITY    CAPTAIN 

"I  haven't  any  idea,"  replied  Ken.  In  fact, 
he  felt  that  his  ideas  were  as  scarce  just  then  as 
his  clothes. 

"That  was  the  president  of  the  Sophs.  He's 
the  varsity  baseball  captain,  too.  You  slugged 
/iim!  .  .  .  Great!" 

Ken's  spirit,  low  as  it  was,  sank  still  lower. 
What  miserable  luck  he  had!  His  one  great  am- 
bition, next  to  getting  his  diploma,  had  been  to 
make  the  varsity  baseball  team. 


II 

A  GREAT  ARM 

'"PHE  shock  of  that  battle,  more  than  the  bruis- 
1  ing  he  had  received,  confined  Ken  to  his  room 
for  a  week.  When  he  emerged  it  was  to  find 
he  was  a  marked  man;  marked  by  the  freshmen 
with  a  great  and  friendly  distinction;  by  the  sopho- 
mores for  revenge.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  loss 
of  his  baseball  hopes,  he  would  have  welcomed  the 
chance  to  become  popular  with  his  classmates. 
But  for  him  it  was  not  pleasant  to  be  reminded 
that  he  had  "slugged"  the  Sophs'  most  honored 
member. 

It  took  only  two  or  three  meetings  with  the  re- 
vengeful sophomores  to  teach  Ken  that  discretion 
was  the  better  part  of  valor.  He  learned  that  the 
sophomores  of  all  departments  were  looking  for 
him  with  deadly  intent.  So  far  luck  had  enabled 
him  to  escape  all  but  a  wordy  bullying.  Ken  be- 
came an  expert  at  dodging.  He  gave  the  corri- 
dors and  campus  a  wide  berth.  He  relinquished 
his  desire  to  live  in  one  of  the  dormitories,  and 
rented  a  room  out  in  the  city.  He  timed  his  ar- 

12 


A   GREAT   ARM 

rival  at  the  university  and  his  departure.  His 
movements  were  governed  entirely  by  painfully 
acquired  knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of  his 
enemies. 

So  for  weeks  Ken  Ward  lived  like  a  recluse. 
He  was  not  one  with  his  college  mates.  He  felt 
that  he  was  not  the  only  freshman  who  had  gotten 
a  bad  start  in  college.  Sometimes  when  he  sat 
near  a  sad-faced  classmate,  he  knew  instinctively 
that  here  was  a  fellow  equally  in  need  of  friend- 
ship. Still  these  freshmen  were  as  backward  as 
he  was,  and  nothing  ever  came  of  such  feelings. 

The  days  flew  by  and  the  weeks  made  months, 
and  all  Ken  did  was  attend  lectures  and  study. 
He  read  everything  he  could  find  in  the  library 
that  had  any  bearing  on  forestry.  He  mastered 
his  text-books  before  the  Christmas  holidays. 
About  the  vacation  he  had  long  been  undecided; 
at  length  he  made  up  his  mind  not  to  go  home. 
It  was  a  hard  decision  to  reach.  But  his  college 
life  so  far  had  been  a  disappointment;  he  was 
bitter  about  it,  and  he  did  not  want  his  father  to 
know.  Judge  Ward  was  a  graduate  of  the  uni- 
versity. Often  and  long  he  had  talked  to  Ken 
about  university  life,  the  lasting  benefit  of  associa- 
tions and  friendships.  He  would  probably  think 
that  his  son  had  barred  himself  out  by  some  reck- 
less or  foolish  act.  Ken  was  not  sure  what  was 
to  blame;  he  knew  he  had  fallen  in  his  own  estt- 

'3 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

mation,  and  that  the  less  he  thought  of  himself 
the  more  he  hated  the  Sophs. 

On  Christmas  day  he  went  to  Carlton  Hall.  It 
was  a  chance  he  did  not  want  to  miss,  for  very 
few  students  would  be  there.  As  it  turned  out  he 
spent  some  pleasant  hours.  But  before  he  left 
the  club  his  steps  led  him  into  the  athletic  trophy 
room,  and  there  he  was  plunged  into  grief.  The 
place  was  all  ablaze  with  flags  and  pennants, 
silver  cups  and  gold  medals,  pictures  of  teams 
and  individuals.  There  were  mounted  sculls  and 
oars,  footballs  and  baseballs.  The  long  and  proud 
record  of  the  university  was  there  to  be  read.  All 
her  famous  athletes  were  pictured  there,  and 
every  one  who  had  fought  for  his  college.  Ken 
realized  that  here  for  the  first  time  he  was  in  the 
atmosphere  of  college  spirit  for  which  the  uni- 
versity was  famed.  What  would  he  not  have 
given  for  a  permanent  place  in  that  gallery!  But 
it  was  too  late.  He  had  humiliated  the  captain 
of  the  baseball  team.  Ken  sought  out  the  picture 
of  the  last  season's  varsity.  What  a  stocky  lot  of 
young  chaps,  all  consciously  proud  of  the  big 
letter  on  their  shirts!  Dale,  the  captain  and 
pitcher,  was  in  the  centre  of  the  group.  Ken 
knew  his  record,  and  it  was  a  splendid  one.  Ken 
took  another  look  at  Dale,  another  at  the  famous 
trainer,  Murray,  and  the  professional  coach,  At 
thurs — men  under  whom  it  had  been  his  dream 

14 


A    GREAT   ARM 

to  play  —  and  then  he  left  the  room,  broken- 
hearted. 

When  the  Christmas  recess  was  over  he  went 
back  to  his  lectures  resigned  to  the  thought  that 
the  athletic  side  of  college  life  was  not  for  him. 
He  studied  harder  than  ever,  and  even  planned  to 
take  a  course  of  lectures  in  another  department. 
Also  his  adeptness  in  dodging  was  called  upon 
more  and  more.  The  Sophs  were  bound  to  get 
him  sooner  or  later.  But  he  did  not  grow  re- 
signed to  that;  every  dodge  and  flight  increased 
his  resentment.  Presently  he  knew  he  would  stop 
and  take  what  they  had  to  give,  and  retaliate  as 
best  he  could.  Only,  what  would  they  do  to  him 
when  they  did  catch  him  ?  He  remembered  his 
watch,  his  money,  and  clothes,  never  recovered 
after  that  memorable  tug-of-war.  He  minded  the 
loss  of  his  watch  most;  that  gift  could  never  be 
replaced.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  the 
greater  sufferer. 

One  Saturday  in  January  Ken  hurried  from  his 
class-room.  He  was  always  in  a  hurry  and  par- 
ticularly on  Saturdays,  for  that  being  a  short  day 
for  most  of  the  departments,  there  were  usually 
many  students  passing  to  and  fro.  A  runaway 
team  clattering  down  the  avenue  distracted  him 
from  his  usual  caution,  and  he  cut  across  the 
campus.  Some  one  stopped  the  horses,  and  a 
crowd  collected.  When  Ken  got  there  many 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

students  were  turning  away.  Ken  came  face  to 
face  with  a  tall,  bronze-haired,  freckle-faced  soph- 
omore, whom  he  had  dodged  more  than  once. 
There  was  now  no  use  to  dodge;  he  had  to  run 
or  stand  his  ground. 

"Boys,  here's  that  slugging  Freshie!"  yelled  the 
Soph.  "We've  got  him  now." 

He  might  have  been  an  Indian  chief  so  wild 
was  the  whoop  that  answered  him. 

"Lead  us  to  him!" 

"Oh,  what  we  won't  do  to  that  Freshie!" 

"Come  on,  boys!" 

Ken  heard  these  yells,  saw  a  number  of  boys 
dash  at  him,  then  he  broke  and  ran  as  if  for  his 
life.  The  Sophs,  a  dozen  strong,  yelling  loudly, 
strung  out  after  him.  Ken  headed  across  the 
campus.  He  was  fleet  of  foot,  and  gained  on  his 
pursuers.  But  the  yells  brought  more  Sophs  on 
the  scene,  and  they  turned  Ken  to  the  right.  He 
spurted  for  Carlton  Hall,  and  almost  ran  into  the 
arms  of  still  more  sophomores.  Turning  tail,  he 
fled  toward  the  library.  When  he  looked  back  it 
was  to  see  the  bronze-haired  leader  within  a  hun- 
dred yards,  and  back  of  him  a  long  line  of  shout- 
ing students. 

If  there  was  a  place  to  hide  round  that  library 
Ken  could  not  find  it.  In  this  circuit  he  lost 
ground.  Moreover,  he  discovered  he  had  not  used 
good  judgment  in  choosing  that  direction.  All 

16 


A   GREAT    ARM 

along  the  campus  was  a  high  iron  fence.  Ken 
thought  desperately  hard  for  an  instant,  then  with 
renewed  speed  he  bounded  straight  for  College 
Hall. 

This  was  the  stronghold  of  the  sophomores. 
As  Ken  sped  up  the  gravel  walk  his  pursuers  split 
their  throats. 

"Run,  you  Freshie!"  yelled  one. 

"The  more  you  run — "  yelled  another. 

"The  more  we'll  skin  you!"  finished  a  third. 

Ken  ran  into  the  passageway  leading  through 
College  Hall. 

It  was  full  of  Sophs  hurrying  toward  the  door 
to  see  where  the  yells  came  from.  When  Ken 
plunged  into  their  midst  some  one  recognized  him 
and  burst  out  with  the  intelligence.  At  the  same 
moment  Ken's  pursuers  banged  through  the 
swinging  doors. 

A  yell  arose  then  in  the  constricted  passage- 
way that  seemed  to  Ken  to  raise  College  Hall  from 
its  foundation.  It  terrified  him.  Like  an  eel  he 
slipped  through  reaching  arms  and  darted  for- 
ward. Ken  was  heavy  and  fast  on  his  feet,  and 
with  fear  lending  him  wings  he  made  a  run  through 
College  Hall  that  would  have  been  a  delight  to 
the  football  coach.  For  Ken  was  not  dodging  any 
sophomores  now.  He  had  played  his  humiliating 
part  of  dodger  long  enough.  He  knocked  them 
right  and  left,  and  many  a  surprised  Soph  he 

17 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

tumbled  over.  Reaching  the  farther  door,  he 
went  through  out  into  the  open. 

The  path  before  him  was  clear  now,  and  he 
made  straight  for  the  avenue.  It  was  several  hun- 
dred yards  distant,  and  he  got  a  good  start  toward 
it  before  the  Sophs  rolled  like  a  roaring  stream 
from  the  passage.  Ken  saw  other  students  run- 
ning, and  also  men  and  boys  out  on  the  avenue; 
but  as  they  could  not  head  him  off  he  kept  to  his 
course.  On  that  side  of  the  campus  a  high, 
narrow  stairway,  lined  by  railings,  led  up  to  the 
sidewalk.  When  Ken  reached  it  he  found  the 
steps  covered  with  ice.  He  slipped  and  fell  three 
times  in  the  ascent,  while  his  frantic  pursuers 
gained  rapidly. 

Ken  mounted  to  the  sidewalk,  gave  vent  to  a 
gasp  of  relief,  and,  wheeling  sharply,  he  stumbled 
over  two  boys  carrying  a  bushel  basket  of  potatoes. 
When  he  saw  the  large,  round  potatoes  a  daring 
inspiration  flashed  into  his  mind.  Taking  the 
basket  from  the  boys  he  turned  to  the  head  of  the 
stairway. 

The  bronze-haired  Soph  was  half-way  up  the 
steps.  His  followers,  twelve  or  more,  were  climb- 
ing after  him.  Then  a  line  of  others  stretched  all 
the  way  to  College  Hall. 

With  a  grim  certainty  of  his  mastery  of  the 
situation  Ken  threw  a  huge  potato  at  his  leading 
pursuer.  Fair  and  square  on  the  bronze  head  it 

18 


A    GREAT   ARM 

struck  with  a  sharp  crack.  Like  a  tenpin  the 
Soph  went  down.  He  plumped  into  the  next  two 
fellows,  knocking  them  off  their  slippery  footing. 
The  three  fell  helplessly  and  piled  up  their  com- 
rades in  a  dense  wedge  half-way  down  the  steps. 
If  the  Sophs  had  been  yelling  before,  it  was  strange 
to  note  how  they  were  yelling  now. 

Deliberately  Ken  fired  the  heavy  missiles.  They 
struck  with  sodden  thuds  against  the  bodies  of 
the  struggling  sophomores.  A  poor  thrower  could 
not  very  well  have  missed  that  mark,  and  Ken 
Ward  was  remarkably  accurate.  He  had  a  power- 
ful overhand  swing,  and  the  potatoes  flew  like 
bullets.  One  wild-eyed  Soph  slipped  out  of  the 
tangle  to  leap  up  the  steps.  Ken,  throwing  rather 
low,  hit  him  on  the  shin.  He  buckled  and  dropped 
down  with  a  blood-curdling  yell.  Another  shook 
himself  loose  and  faced  upward.  A  better-aimed 
shot  took  him  in  the  shoulder.  He  gave  an  ex- 
hibition of  a  high  and  lofty  somersault.  Then  two 
more  started  up  abreast.  The  first  Ken  hit  over 
the  eye  with  a  very  small  potato,  which  popped 
like  an  explosive  bullet  and  flew  into  bits.  As 
far  as  effect  was  concerned  a  Martini  could  not 
have  caused  a  more  beautiful  fall.  Ken  landed 
on  the  second  fellow  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach 
with  a  very  large  potato.  There  was  a  sound 
as  of  a  suddenly  struck  bass-drum.  The  Soph 
crumpled  up  over  the  railing,  slid  down,  and  fell 

19 


THE   YOUNG    PITCHER 

among  his  comrades,  effectually  blocking  the  stair- 
way. 

For  the  moment  Ken  had  stopped  the  advance. 
The  sophomores  had  been  checked  by  one  wild 
freshman.  There  was  scarcely  any  doubt  about 
Ken's  wildness.  He  had  lost  his  hat;  his  di- 
shevelled hair  stood  up  like  a  mane;  every  time 
he  hurled  a  potato  he  yelled.  But  there  was 
nothing  wild  about  his  aim. 

All  at  once  he  turned  his  battery  on  the  students 
gathering  below  the  crush,  trying  to  find  a  way 
through  the  kicking,  slipping  mass  on  the  narrow 
stairs.  He  scattered  them  as  if  they  had  been 
quail.  Some  ran  out  of  range.  Others  dove  for 
cover  and  tried  to  dodge.  This  dodging  brought 
gleeful  howls  from  Ken. 

"Dodge,  you  Indian!"  yelled  Ken,  as  he  threw. 
And  seldom  it  was  that  dodging  was  of  any  use. 
Then,  coming  to  the  end  of  his  ammunition,  he 
surveyed  the  battle-field  beneath  him  and,  turning, 
ran  across  the  avenue  and  down  a  street.  At  the 
corner  of  the  block  he  looked  back.  There  was 
one  man  coming,  but  he  did  not  look  like  a 
student.  So  Ken  slackened  his  pace  and  bent  his 
steps  toward  his  boarding-house. 

"By  George!  I  stole  those  potatoes!"  he  ex- 
claimed, presently.  "I  wonder  how  I  can  make 
that  good." 

Several  times  as  he  turned  to  look  over  his 
20 


A   GREAT    ARM 

shoulder  he  saw  the  man  he  had  noticed  at  first. 
But  that  did  not  trouble  him,  for  he  was  sure  no 
one  else  was  following  him.  Ken  reached  his 
room  exhausted  by  exertion  and  excitement.  He 
flung  himself  upon  his  bed  to  rest  and  calm  his 
mind  so  that  he  could  think.  If  he  had  been  in  a 
bad  light  before,  what  was  his  position  now  ?  Be- 
yond all  reasoning  with,  however,  was  the  spirit 
that  gloried  in  his  last  stand. 

"By  George!"  he  kept  saying.  "I  wouldn't 
have  missed  that — not  for  anything.  They  made 
my  life  a  nightmare.  I'll  have  to  leave  college — 
go  somewhere  else — but  I  don't  care." 

Later,  after  dinner  as  he  sat  reading,  he  heard 
a  door-bell  ring,  a  man's  voice,  then  footsteps  in 
the  hall.  Some  one  tapped  on  his  door.  Ken 
felt  a  strange,  cold  sensation,  which  soon  passed, 
and  he  spoke: 

"  Come  in." 

The  door  opened  to  admit  a  short  man  with  lit- 
tle, bright  eyes  sharp  as  knives. 

"Hello,  Kid,"  he  said.  Then  he  leisurely  re- 
moved his  hat  and  overcoat  and  laid  them  on  the 
bed. 

Ken's  fear  of  he  knew  not  what  changed  to 
amazement.  At  least  his  visitor  did  not  belong 
to  the  faculty.  There  was  something  familiar 
about  the  man,  yet  Ken  could  not  place  him. 

"Well  up  in  your  studies  ?"  he  asked,  cordially. 

21 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Then  he  seated  himself,  put  a  hand  on  each  knee, 
and  deliberately  and  curiously  studied  Ken. 

"Why,  yes,  pretty  well  up,"  replied  Ken.  He 
did  not  know  how  to  take  the  man.  There  was  a 
kindliness  about  him  which  relieved  Ken,  yet 
there  was  also  a  hard  scrutiny  that  was  em- 
barrassing. 

"All  by  your  lonely  here,"  he  said. 

"It  is  lonely,"  replied  Ken,  "but — but  I  don't 
get  on  very  well  with  the  students." 

"Small  wonder.     Most  of  'em  are  crazy." 

He  was  unmistakably  friendly.  Ken  kept  won- 
dering where  he  had  seen  him.  Presently  the  man 
arose,  and,  with  a  wide  smile  on  his  face,  reached 
over  and  grasped  Ken's  right  arm. 

"How's  the  whip?" 

"What?"  asked  Ken. 

"The  wing — your  arm,  Kid,  your  arm." 

"Oh—    Why,  it's  all  right." 

"It's  not  sore — not  after  peggin'  a  bushel  of 
potatoes  on  a  cold  day  ?" 

Ken  laughed  and  raised  his  arm  up  and  down. 
"It's  weak  to-night,  but  not  sore." 

"These  boys  with  their  India-rubber  arms! 
It's  youth,  Kid,  it's  youth.  Say,  how  old  are 
you  ?" 

"Sixteen." 

"What!    No  more  than  that  ?" 

"No." 

22 


A    GREAT   ARM 

"How  much  do  you  weigh  ?" 
"About  one  hundred  and  fifty-six." 
"I  thought  you  had  some  beef  back  of  that 
stunt  of  yours  to-day.     Say,  Kid,  it  was  the  fun- 
niest and  the  best  thing  I've  seen  at  the  university 
in  ten  years — and  I've  seen  some  fresh  boys  do 
some  stunts,  I  have.     Well . . .  Kid,  you've  a  grand 
whip — a  great  arm — and  we're  goin'  to  do  some 
stunts  with  it." 

Ken  felt  something  keen  and  significant  in  the 
very  air. 

"A  great  arm!    For  what  ?  .  .  .  who  are  you  ?" 
"Say,  I  thought  every  boy  in  college  knew  me. 
I'm  Arthurs." 

"The  baseball  coach!  Are  you  the  baseball 
coach  ?"  exclaimed  Ken,  jumping  up  with  his 
heart  in  his  throat. 

"That's  me,  my  boy;  and  I'm  lookin'  you  up." 
Ken  suddenly  choked  with  thronging  emotions 
and  sat  down  as  limp  as  a  rag. 

"Yes,  Kid,  I'm  after  you  strong.  The  way 
you  pegged  'em  to-day  got  me.  You've  a  great 
arml" 


Ill 

PRISONER  OF  THE    SOPHS 

"DUT   if— it's    really  true — that  I've  a   great 

1— '  arm,"  faltered  Ken,  "it  won't  ever  do  me 
any  good.  I  could  never  get  on  the  varsity." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  coach.  "I'll  make 
a  star  of  a  yo.ungster  like  you,  if  you'll  take  coach- 
in'.  Why  not  ?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  know,"  returned  Ken,  with  a 
long  face. 

"Say,  you  haven't  struck  me  as  a  kid  with  no 
nerve.  What's  wrong  with  you  ?" 

"  It  was  I  who  slugged  Captain  Dale  and  caused 
that  big  rush  between  the  freshmen  and  sopho- 
mores. I've  lived  like  a  hermit  ever  since." 

"So  it  was  you  who  hit  Dale.  Well — that's 
bad,"  replied  Arthurs.  He  got  up  with  sober 
face  and  began  to  walk  the  floor.  "I  remember 
the  eye  he  had.  It  was  a  sight.  .  .  .  But  Dale's  a 
good  fellow.  He'll—" 

"  I'd  do  anything  on  earth  to  make  up  for  that," 
burst  out  Ken. 

"Good!  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said 
24 


PRISONER    OF    THE    SOPHS 

Arthurs,  his  face  brightening.  "We'll  go  right 
down  to  Dale's  room  now.  I'll  fix  it  up  with 
him  somehow.  The  sooner  the  better.  I'm  goin* 
to  call  the  baseball  candidates  to  the  cage 
soon." 

They  put  on  coats  and  hats  and  went  out. 
Evidently  the  coach  was  thinking  hard,  for  he  had 
nothing  to  say,  but  he  kept  a  reassuring  hand  on 
Ken's  arm.  They  crossed  the  campus  along  the 
very  path  where  Ken  had  fled  from  the  sopho- 
mores. The  great  circle  of  dormitories  loomed 
up  beyond  with  lights  shining  in  many  windows. 
Arthurs  led  Ken  through  a  court-yard  and  into  a 
wide,  bright  hallway.  Their  steps  sounded  with 
hollow  click  upon  the  tiled  floor.  They  climbed 
three  flights  of  stairs,  and  then  Arthurs  knocked 
at  a  door.  Ken's  heart  palpitated.  It  was  all  so 
sudden;  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  going  to 
say  or  do.  He  did  not  care  what  happened  to 
him  if  Arthurs  could  only,  somehow,  put  him  right 
with  the  captain. 

A  merry  voice  bade  them  enter.  The  coach 
opened  the  door  and  led  Ken  across  the  threshold. 
Ken  felt  the  glow  of  a  warm,  bright  room,  colorful 
with  pennants  and  posters,  and  cozy  in  its  dis- 
order. Then  he  saw  Dale  and,  behind  him,  sev- 
eral other  students.  There  was  a  moment's  si- 
lence in  which  Ken  heard  his  heart  beat. 

Dale  rose  slowly  from  his  seat,  the  look  on  his 
25 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

frank    face   changing   from   welcome   to   intense 
amazement  and  then  wild  elation. 

"Whoop!"  he  shouted.  "Lock  the  door!  Worry 
Arthurs,  this's  your  best  bet  ever!" 

Dale  dashed  at  the  coach,  hugged  him  franti- 
cally, then  put  his  head  out  of  the  door  to  bawl: 
"Sophs!  Sophs!  Sophs!  Hurry  call!  Number 
nine!  .  .  .  Oh,  my!" 

Then  he  faced  about,  holding  the  door  partially 
open.  He  positively  beamed  upon  the  coach. 

"Say,  Cap,  what's  eatin'  you  ?"  asked  Arthurs. 
He  looked  dumfounded.  Ken  hung  to  him  des- 
perately; he  thought  he  knew  what  was  coming. 
There  were  hurried  footsteps  in  the  corridor  and 
excited  voices. 

"Worry,  it's  bully  of  you  to  bring  this  freshman 
here,"  declared  the  captain. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  demanded  the  coach.  "I 
looked  him  up  to-night.  He's  got  a  great  arm, 
and  will  be  good  material  for  the  team.  He 
told  me  about  the  little  scrap  you  had  in  the 
lecture-room.  He  lost  his  temper,  and  no  wonder. 
Anyway,  he's  sorry,  Cap,  and  I  fetched  him  around 
to  see  if  you  couldn't  make  it  up.  How  about  it, 
Kid  ?" 

"I'm  sorry — awfully  sorry,  Captain  Dale," 
blurted  out  Ken.  "I  was  mad  and  scared,  too- 
then  you  fellows  hurt  me.  So  I  hit  right  out.  .  . . 
But  I'll  take  my  medicine." 

26 


PRISONER    OF    THE    SOPHS 

"So— oh!"  ejaculated  Dale.  "Well,  this  beats 
the  deuce!  That's  why  you're  here?" 

The  door  opened  wide  to  admit  half  a  dozen 
eager-faced  youths. 

"Fellows,  here's  a  surprise,"  said  Dale.  "Young 
Ward,  the  freshman!  the  elusive  slugging  fresh- 
man, fast  on  his  feet,  and,  as  Worry  here  says,  a 
lad  with  a  great  arm!" 

"WARD!"  roared  the  Sophs  in  unison. 

"Hold  on,  fellows — wait — no  rough-house  yet 
— wait,"  ordered  Dale.  "Ward's  here  of  his  own 
free  will!" 

Silence  ensued  after  the  captain  spoke.  While 
he  turned  to  lock  the  door  the  Sophs  stared  open- 
mouthed  at  Ken.  Arthurs  had  a  worried  look, 
and  he  kept  his  hand  on  Ken.  Dale  went  to  a 
table  and  began  filling  his  pipe.  Then  he  fixed 
sharp,  thoughtful  eyes  upon  his  visitors. 

"Worry,  you  say  you  brought  this  freshman 
here  to  talk  baseball  ?"  he  asked. 

"Sure  I  did,"  blustered  Arthurs.  It  was  plain 
now  where  he  got  the  name  that  Dale  called  him. 
"What's  in  the  wind,  anyhow?" 

Dale  then  gravely  spoke  to  Ken.  "So  you 
came  here  to  see  me  ?  Sorry  you  slugged  me 
once  ?  Want  to  make  up  for  it  somehow,  because 
you  think  you've  a  chance  for  the  team,  and  don't 
want  me  to  be  sore  on  you  ?  That  it  ?" 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Ken.  "I'd  want  to  let 
3  27 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

you  get  square  with  me  even  if  you  weren't  the 
varsity  captain." 

"Well,  you've  more  than  squared  yourself  with 
me  —  by  coming  here.  You'll  realize  that  pres- 
ently. But  don't  you  know  what's  happened, 
what  the  freshmen  have  done  ?" 

"No;    I  don't." 

"You  haven't  been  near  the  university  since 
this  afternoon  when  you  pulled  off  the  potato 
stunt  ?" 

"I  should  say  I  haven't." 

This  brought  a  laugh  from  the  Sophs. 

"You  were  pretty  wise,"  went  on  Dale.  "The 
Sophs  didn't  love  you  then.  But  they're  going 
to — understand  ?" 

Ken  shook  his  head,  too  bewildered  and  mys- 
tified to  reply. 

"Well,  now,  here's  Giraffe  Boswick.  Look 
what  you  did  to  him!" 

Ken's  glance  followed  the  wave  of  Dale's  hand 
and  took  in  the  tall,  bronze  -  haired  sophomore 
who  had  led  the  chase  that  afternoon.  Boswick 
wore  a  huge  discolored  bruise  over  his  left  eye. 
It  was  hideous.  Ken  was  further  sickened  to 
recollect  that  Boswick  was  one  of  the  varsity 
pitchers.  But  the  fellow  was  smiling  amiably  at 
Ken,  as  amiably  as  one  eye  would  permit.  The 
plot  thickened  about  Ken.  He  felt  his  legs 
trembling  under  him. 

28 


PRISONER   OF    THE    SOPHS 

"  Boswick,  you  forgive  Ward,  don't  you — now  ?" 
continued  Dale,  with  a  smile. 

"With  all  my  heart!"  exclaimed  the  pitcher. 
"To  see  him  here  would  make  me  forgive  any- 
thing." 

Conch  Arthurs  was  ill  at  ease.  He  evidently 
kne,"7  students,  and  he  did  not  relish  the  mystery, 
the  hidden  meaning. 

"Say,  you  wise  guys  make  me  sick,"  he  called 
out,  gruffly.  "Here's  a  kid  that  comes  right 
among  you.  He's  on  the  level,  and  more'n  that, 
he's  game!  Now,  Cap,  I  fetched  him  here,  and 
I  won't  stand  for  a  whole  lot.  Get  up  on  your 
toes!  Get  it  over!" 

"Sit  down  Worry,  here's  a  cigar — light  up," 
said  Dale,  soothingly.  "It's  all  coming  right, 
lovely,  I  say.  Ward  was  game  to  hunt  me  up,  a 
thousand  times  gamer  than  he  knows. .  . .  See  here, 
Ward,  where  are  you  from  ?" 

"  I  live  a  good  long  day's  travel  from  the  univer- 
sity," answered  Ken,  evasively. 

"I  thought  so.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  bowl- 
£ght,  the  great  event  of  the  year  here  at  Wayne 
University  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  heard — read  a  little  about  it.  But 
I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  went  on  Dale.  "There  are  a 
number  of  yearly  rushes  and  scrapes  between  the 
freshmen  and  sophomores,  but  the  bowl-fight  is 

29 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

the  one  big  meeting,  the  time-honored  event.  It 
has  been  celebrated  here  for  many  years.  It 
takes  place  on  a  fixed  date.  Briefly,  here's  what 
comes  off:  The  freshmen  have  the  bowl  in  their 
keeping  this  year  because  they  won  it  in  the  last 
fight.  They  are  to  select  one  of  their  number, 
always  a  scrappy  fellow,  and  one  honored  by  the 
class,  and  they  call  him  the  bowl-man.  A  week 
before  the  fight,  on  a  certain  date,  the  freshmen 
hide  this  bowl-man  or  protect  him  from  the  sopho- 
mores until  the  day  of  the  fight,  when  they  all 
march  to  Grant  field  in  fighting-togs.  Should  the 
sophomores  chance  to  find  him  and  hold  him 
prisoner  until  after  the  date  of  the  bowl-fight  they 
win  the  bowl.  The  same  applies  also  in  case  the 
bowl  is  in  possession  of  the  sophomores.  But  for 
ten  years  neither  class  has  captured  the  other's 
bowl-man.  So  they  have  fought  it  out  on  the 
field  until  the  bowl  was  won." 

"Well,  what  has  all  that  got  to  do  with  me  ?" 
asked  Ken.  He  felt  curiously  light-headed. 

"It  has  a  little  to  do  with  you — hasn't  it,  fel- 
lows ?"  said  Dale,  in  slow,  tantalizing  voice. 

Worry  Arthurs  lost  his  worried  look  and  began 
to  smile  and  rub  his  hands. 

"Ward,  look  here,"  added  Dale,  now  speaking 
sharply.  "You've  been  picked  for  the  bowl- 
man!" 

"  Me — me  ?"  stammered  Ken. 
30 


PRISONER    OF    THE    SOPHS 

"No  other.  The  freshmen  were  late  in  choos- 
ing a  man  this  year.  To-day,  after  your  stunt — 
holding  up  that  bunch  of  sophomores — they  had 
a  meeting  in  Carlton  Club  and  picked  you.  Most 
of  them  didn't  even  know  your  name.  I'll  bet 
the  whole  freshman  class  is  hunting  for  you  right 
now." 

"What  for?"  queried  Ken,  weakly. 

"Why,  I  told  you.  The.  bowl-fight  is  only  a 
week  off — and  here  you  are.  And  here  you'll  stay 
until  that  date's  past!" 

Ken  drew  a  quick  breath.  He  began  to  com- 
prehend. The  sudden  huzzahs  of  Dale's  com- 
panions gave  him  further  enlightenment. 

"But,  Captain  Dale,"  he  said,  breathlessly,  "if 
it's  so — if  my  class  has  picked  me — I  can't  throw 
them  down.  I  don't  know  a  soul  in  my  class. 
I  haven't  a  friend.  But  I  won't  throw  them  down 
— not  to  be  forever  free  of  dodging  Sophs — not 
even  to  square  myself  with  you." 

"Ward,  you're  all  right!"  shouted  Dale,  his  eyes 
shining. 

In  the  quiet  moment  that  followed,  with  all  the 
sophomores  watching  him  intently,  Ken  Ward 
instinctively  felt  that  his  measure  had  been  taken. 

"I  won't  stay  here,"  said  Ken,  and  for  the  first 
time  his  voice  rang. 

"Oh  yes,  you  will,"  replied  Dale,  laughing. 

Quick  as  a  cat  Ken  leaped  for  the  door  and  got 


T^HE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

It  unlocked  and  half  open  before  some  one  clutched 
him.  Then  Dale  was  on  him  close  and  hard. 
Ken  began  to  struggle.  He  was  all  muscle,  and 
twice  he  broke  from  them. 

"His  legs!    Grab  his  legs!    He's  a  young  bull!" 

"We'll  trim  you  now,  Freshiel" 

"You  potato-masher!" 

"Go  for  his  wind!" 

Fighting  and  wrestling  with  all  his  might  Ken 
went  down  under  a  half  dozen  sophomores.  Then 
Dale  was  astride  his  chest,  and  others  were  sitting 
on  his  hands  and  feet. 

"Boys,  don't  hurt  that  arm!"  yelled  Worry 
Arthurs. 

"Ward,  will  you  be  good  now  and  stop  scrapping 
or  shall  we  tie  you  ?"  asked  Dale.  "You  can't  get 
away.  The  thing  to  do  is  to  give  your  word  not 
to  try.  We  want  to  make  this  easy  for  you.  Your 
word  of  honor,  now  ?" 

"Never!"  cried  Ken. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't,"  said  Dale.  "We'll 
have  to  keep  you  under  guard." 

They  let  him  get  up.  He  was  panting,  and  his 
nose  was  bleeding,  and  one  of  his  knuckles  was 
skinned.  That  short  struggle  had  been  no  joke. 
The  Sophs  certainly  meant  to  keep  him  prisoner. 
Still,  he  was  made  to  feel  at  ease.  They  could 
not  do  enough  for  him. 

"It's  tough  luck,  Ward,  that  you  should  have 
3* 


PRISONER   OF   THE    SOPHS 

fallen  into  our  hands  this  way,"  said  Dale.  "But 
you  couldn't  help  it.  You  will  be  kept  in  my  rooms 
until  after  the  fifteenth.  Meals  will  be  brought 
you,  and  your  books;  everything  will  be  done  for 
your  comfort.  Your  whereabouts,  of  course, 
will  be  a  secret,  and  you  will  be  closely  watched. 
Worry,  remember  you  are  bound  to  silence.  And 
Ward,  perhaps  it  wasn't  an  ill  wind  that  blew  you 
here.  You've  had  your  last  scrap  with  a  Soph, 
that's  sure.  As  for  what  brought  you  here — it's 
more  than  square;  and  I'll  say  this:  if  you  can 
play  ball  as  well  as  you  can  scrap,  old  Wayne  has 
got  a  star." 


IV 

THE   CALL   FOR  CANDIDATES 

THERE  were  five  rooms  in  Dale's  suite  in 
the  dormitory,  and  three  other  sophomores 
shared  them  with  him.  They  confined  Ken  in 
the  end  room,  where  he  was  safely  locked  and 
guarded  from  any  possible  chance  to  escape. 

For  the  first  day  or  two  it  was  irksome  for  Ken; 
but  as  he  and  his  captors  grew  better  acquainted 
the  strain  eased  up,  and  Ken  began  to  enjoy  him- 
self as  he  had  not  since  coming  to  the  university. 

He  could  not  have  been  better  provided  for. 
His  books  were  at  hand,  and  even  notes  of  the 
lectures  he  was  missing  were  brought  to  him. 
The  college  papers  and  magazines  interested  him, 
and  finally  he  was  much  amused  by  an  account 
of  his  mysterious  disappearance.  All  in  a  day  he 
found  himself  famous.  Then  Dale  and  his  room- 
mates were  so  friendly  and  jolly  that  if  his  cap- 
tivity had  not  meant  the  disgrace  of  the  freshman 
class,  Ken  would  have  rejoiced  in  it.  He  began 
to  thaw  out,  though  he  did  not  lose  his  backward- 
ness. The  life  of  the  great  university  began  to 

34 


THE   CALL    FOR    CANDIDATES 

be  real  to  him.  Almost  the  whole  sophomore 
class,  in  squads  of  twos  and  threes  and  sixes, 
visited  Dale's  rooms  during  that  week.  No  Soph 
wanted  to  miss  a  sight  of  a  captive  bowl-man.  Ken 
felt  so  callow  and  fresh  in  their  presence  that  he 
scarcely  responded  to  their  jokes.  Worry  Arthur's 
nickname  of  "Kid"  vied  with  another  the  coach 
conferred  on  Ken,  and  that  was  "Peg."  It  was 
significant  slang  expressing  the  little  baseball  man's 
baseball  notion  of  Ken's  throwing  power. 

The  evening  was  the  most  interesting  time  for 
Ken.  There  was  always  something  lively  going 
on.  He  wondered  when  the  boys  studied.  When 
some  of  the  outside  students  dropped  in  there 
were  banjo  and  guitar  playing,  college  songs,  and 
college  gossip. 

"Come  on,  Peg,  be  a  good  fellow,"  they  said, 
and  laughed  at  his  refusal  to  smoke  or  drink  beer. 

"Molly!"  mocked  one. 

"Willy-boy!"  added  another. 

Ken  was  callow,  young,  and  backward;  but  he 
had  a  temper,  and  this  kind  of  banter  roused  it 
easily.  The  red  flamed  into  his  cheeks. 

"I  promised  my  mother  I  wouldn't  smoke  or 
Jrink  or  gamble  while  I  was  in  college,"  he  re- 
torted, struggling  with  shame  and  anger.  "And 
I— I  won't." 

Dale  stopped  the  good-natured  chaff.  "Fel- 
lows, stop  guying  Ward;  cut  it  out,  I  tell  you. 

35 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

He's  only  a  kid  freshman,  but  he's  liable  to  hand 
you  a  punch,  and  if  he  does  you'll  remember  it. 
Besides,  he's  right. . . .  Look  here,  Ward,  you  stick 
to  that  promise.  It's  a  good  promise  to  stick  to, 
and  if  you're  going  in  for  athletics  it's  the  best  ever." 
Worry  Arthurs  happened  to  be  present  on  this 
evening,  and  he  seconded  Dale  in  more  forceful 
speech.  "There's  too  much  boozin'  and  smokin' 
of  them  coffin  nails  goin'  on  in  this  college.  It's 
none  of  my  affair  except  with  the  boys  I'm  coach- 
in',  and  if  I  ketch  any  one  breakin*  my  rules  after 
we  go  to  the  trainin'-table  he'll  sit  on  the  bench. 
There's  Murray;  why,  he  says  there  are  fellows  in 
college  who  could  break  records  if  they'd  train. 
Half  of  sprintin'  or  baseball  or  football  is  condi- 


tion." 


"Oh,  Worry,  you  and  Mac  always  make  a  long 
face  over  things.  Wayne  has  won  a  few  cham- 
pionships, hasn't  she  ?" 

"The  varsity  ball  team  will  be  a  frost  this  year, 
that's  sure,"  replied  Arthurs,  gloomily. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out  ?"  demanded  Dale, 
plainly  nettled.  "You've  hinted  it  before  to  me. 
Why  won't  we  be  stronger  than  last  season  ? 
Didn't  we  have  a  crackerjack  team,  the  fastest 
that  ever  represented  old  Wayne  ?  Didn't  we 
smother  the  small  college  teams  and  beat  Place 
twice,  shut  out  Herne  the  first  game,  and  play 
for  a  tie  the  second  ?" 

36 


THE    CALL    FOR    CANDIDATES 

"You'll  see,  all  right,  all  right,"  replied  Arthurs, 
gloomier  than  ever;  and  he  took  his  hat  and 
went  out. 

Dale  slammed  his  cards  down  on  the  table. 

"  Fellows,  is  it  any  wonder  we  call  him  Worry  ? 
Already  he's  begun  to  fuss  over  the  team.  Ever 
since  he's  been  here  he  has  driven  the  baseball 
captains  and  managers  crazy.  It's  only  his  way, 
but  it's  so  irritating.  He's  a  magnificent  coach, 
and  Wayne  owes  her  great  baseball  teams  to  him. 
But  he's  hard  on  captains.  I  see  my  troubles. 
The  idea  of  this  year's  team  being  a  frost — with 
all  the  old  stars  back  in  college — with  only  two 
positions  to  fill !  And  there  are  half  a  dozen 
cracks  in  college  to  fight  for  these  two  positions — 
fellows  I  played  against  on  the  summer  nines  last 
year.  Worry's  idea  is  ridiculous." 

This  bit  of  baseball  talk  showed  Ken  the  ob- 
stacles in  the  way  of  a  freshman  making  the 
varsity  team.  What  a  small  chance  there  would 
be  for  him!  Still  he  got  a  good  deal  of  comfort 
out  of  Arthurs'  interest  in  him,  and  felt  that  he 
would  be  happy  to  play  substitute  this  season, 
and  make  the  varsity  in  his  sophomore  year. 

The  day  of  the  bowl-fight  passed,  and  Ken's 
captivity  became  history.  The  biggest  honor  of 
the  sophomore  year  went  to  Dale  and  his  room- 
mates. Ken  returned  to  his  department,  where 
he  was  made  much  of,  as  he  had  brought  fame  to 

37 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

a  new  and  small  branch  of  the  great  university. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  walk  the  campus  without  fear 
of  being  pounced  upon.  Ken's  dodging  and  lone- 
liness— perhaps  necessary  and  curbing  nightmares 
in  the  life  of  a  freshman — were  things  of  the  past. 
He  made  acquaintances,  slowly  lost  his  back- 
wardness, and  presently  found  college  life  opening 
to  him  bright  and  beautiful.  Ken  felt  strongly 
about  things.  And  as  his  self-enforced  exile  had 
been  lonely  and  bitter,  so  now  his  feeling  that  he 
was  really  a  part  of  the  great  university  seemed 
almost  too  good  to  be  true.  He  began  to  get  a 
glimmering  of  the  meaning  of  his  father's  love  for 
the  old  college.  Students  and  professors  under- 
went some  vague  change  in  his  mind.  He  could 
not  tell  what,  he  did  not  think  much  about  it,  but 
there  was  a  warmer  touch,  a  sense  of  something 
nearer  to  him. 

Then  suddenly  a  blow  fell  upon  the  whole 
undergraduate  body.  It  was  a  thunderbolt.  It 
affected  every  student,  but  Ken  imagined  it  con- 
cerned his  own  college  fortunes  more  intimately. 
The  athletic  faculty  barred  every  member  of 
the  varsity  baseball  team!  The  year  before  the 
faculty  had  advised  and  requested  the  players  not 
to  become  members  of  the  summer  baseball  nines. 
Their  wishes  had  not  been  heeded.  Captain  Dale 
and  his  fast  players  had  been  much  in  demand 
by  the  famous  summer  nines.  Some  of  them 

38 


THE    CALL    FOR    CANDIDATES 

went  to  the  Orange  Athletic  Club,  others  to  Rich- 
field Springs,  others  to  Cape  May,  and  Dale  him- 
self had  captained  the  Atlantic  City  team. 

The  action  of  the  faculty  was  commended  by 
the  college  magazine.  Even  the  students,  though 
chafing  under  it,  could  not  but  acknowledge  its 
justice.  The  other  universities  had  adopted  such 
a  rule,  and  Wayne  must  fall  in  line.  The  objec- 
tions to  summer  ball-playing  were  not  few,  and 
the  particular  one  was  that  it  affected  the  amateur 
standing  of  the  college  player.  He  became  open 
to  charges  of  professionalism.  At  least,  all  his  ex- 
penses were  paid,  and  it  was  charged  that  usually 
he  was  paid  for  his  services. 

Ken's  first  feeling  when  he  learned  this  news 
was  one  of  blank  dismay.  The  great  varsity  team 
wiped  off  the  slate !  How  Place  and  Herne  would 
humble  old  Wayne  this  year!  Then  the  long, 
hard  schedule,  embracing  thirty  games,  at  least 
one  with  every  good  team  in  the  East — how  would 
an  untried  green  team  fare  against  tha:  formida- 
ble array  ?  Then  Ken  suddenly  felt  ashamed  of 
a  selfish  glee,  for  he  was  now  sure  of  a  place  on 
the  varsity. 

For  several  days  nothing  else  was  talked  about 
by  the  students.  Whenever  Dale  or  his  players 
appeared  at  Carlton  Hall  they  were  at  once  sur- 
rounded by  a  sympathetic  crowd.  If  it  was  a 
bitter  blow  to  the  undergraduates,  what  was  it  to 

39 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

the  members  of  the  varsity  ?  Their  feeling  showed 
in  pale,  stern  faces.  It  was  reported  about  the 
campus  that  Murray  and  Arthurs  and  Dale,  with 
the  whole  team,  went  to  the  directors  of  the 
athletic  faculty  and  besought  them  to  change  or 
modify  the  decision.  Both  the  trainer  and  the 
coach,  who  had  brought  such  glory  to  the  uni- 
versity, threatened  to  resign  their  places.  The 
disgrace  of  a  pitiably  weak  team  of  freshmen  being 
annihilated  by  minor  colleges  was  eloquently  put 
before  the  directors.  But  the  decision  was  final. 

One  evening  early  in  February  Worry  Arthurs 
called  upon  Ken.  His  face  was  long,  and  his 
mustache  drooped. 

"  Kid,  what  do  you  think  of  'em  fat-heads  on 
the  faculty  queerin'  my  team  ?"  he  asked.  "  Best 
team  I  ever  developed.  Say,  but  the  way  they 
could  work  the  hit-and-run  game!  Any  man  on 
the  team  could  hit  to  right  field  when  there  was  a 
runner  goin'  down  from  first." 

"Maybe  things  will  turn  out  all  right,"  sug- 
gested Ken,  hopefully. 

Worry  regarded  his  youthful  sympathizer  with 
scorn. 

"It  takes  two  years  to  teach  most  college  kids 
the  rudiments  of  baseball.  Look  at  this  year's 
schedule."  Worry  produced  a  card  and  waved  it 
at  Ken.  "The  hardest  schedule  Wayne  ever  hadl 
And  I've  got  to  play  a  kid  team." 

40 


THE    CALL    FOR    CANDIDATES 

Ken  was  afraid  to  utter  any  more  of  his  hopes, 
and  indeed  he  felt  them  to  be  visionary. 

"The  call  for  candidates  goes  out  to-morrow," 
went  on  the  coach.  "  I'll  bet  there'll  be  a  mob  at 
the  cage.  Every  fool  kid  in  the  university  will 
think  he's  sure  of  a  place.  Now,  Ward,  what  have 
you  played  ?" 

"Everywhere;    but  infield  mostly." 

"Every  kid  has  played  the  whole  game.  What 
position  have  you  played  most  ?" 

"Third  base." 

"Good!  You've  the  arm  for  that.  Well,  I'm 
anxious  to  see  you  work,  but  don't  exert  yourself 
in  the  cage.  This  is  a  tip.  See!  I'll  be  busy 
weedin*  out  the  bunch,  and  won't  have  time  until 
we  get  out  on  the  field.  You  can  run  around  the 
track  every  day,  get  your  wind  and  your  legs  right, 
hold  in  on  your  arm.  The  cage  is  cold.  I've 
seen  many  a  good  wing  go  to  the  bad  there.  But 
your  chance  looks  good.  College  baseball  is  dif- 
ferent from  any  other  kind.  You  might  say  it's 
played  with  the  heart.  I've  seen  youngsters  go  in 
through  grit  and  spirit,  love  of  playin'  for  their 
college,  and  beat  out  fellows  who  were  their  su- 
periors physically.  Well,  good-night.  .  .  .  Say, 
there's  one  more  thing.  I  forgot  it.  Are  you  up 
in  your  subjects  ?" 

"I  surely  am,"  replied  Ken.  "I've  had  four 
months  of  nothing  but  study." 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"The  reason  I  ask  is  this:  That  faculty  has 
made  another  rule,  the  one-year  residence  rule, 
they  call  it.  You  have  to  pass  your  exams,  get 
your  first  year  over,  before  you  can  represent  any 
athletic  club.  So,  in  case  I  can  use  you  on  the 
team,  you  would  have  to  go  up  for  your  exams  two 
months  or  more  ahead  of  time.  That  scare  vou  ?" 

«/ 

"Not  a  bit.  I  could  pass  mine  right  now," 
answered  Ken,  confidently. 

"Kid,  you  and  me  are  goin'  to  get  along.  .  .  . 
Well,  good-night,  and  don't  forget  what  I  said." 

Ken  was  too  full  for  utterance;  he  could  scarce- 
ly mumble  good-night  to  the  coach.  He  ran  up- 
stairs three  steps  to  the  jump,  and  when  he  reached 
his  room  he  did  a  war  dance  and  ended  by  stand- 
ing on  his  head.  When  he  had  gotten  rid  of  his 
exuberance  he  sat  down  at  once  to  write  to  his 
brother  Hal  about  it,  and  also  his  forest-ranger 
friend,  Dick  Leslie,  with  whom  he  had  spent  an 
adventurous  time  the  last  summer. 

At  Carlton  Hall,  next  day,  Ken  saw  a  crowd  of 
students  before  the  bulletin-board  and,  edging  in, 
he  read  the  following  notice: 

BASEBALL! 

CALL  FOR  CANDIDATES  FOR  THE  VARSITY  BASE- 
BALL TEAM 

The   Athletic   Directors   of  the   University 
earnestly  request  every  student  who  can  play 
42 


THE    CALL    FOR    CANDIDATES 

ball,  or  who  thinks  he  can,  to  present  himself 
to  Coach  Arthurs  at  the  Cage  on  Feb.  3rd. 
There  will  be  no  freshman  team  this  year, 
and  a  new  team  entirely  will  be  chosen  for 
the  varsity.  Every  student  will  have  a  chance. 
Applicants  are  requested  to  familiarize  them- 
selves with  the  new  eligibility  rules. 


THE   CAGE 

KEN  WARD  dug  down  into  his  trunk  for  hi* 
old  baseball  suit  and  donned  it  with  strange 
elation.  It  was  dirty  and  torn,  and  the  shoes 
that  went  with  it  were  worn  out,  but  Ken  was 
thinking  of  what  hard  ball-playing  they  repre- 
sented. He  put  his  overcoat  on  over  his  sweater, 
took  up  his  glove  and  sallied  forth. 

&  thin  coating  of  ice  and  snow  covered  the 
streets.  Winter  still  whistled  in  the  air.  To  Ken 
in  his  eagerness  spring  seemed  a  long  way  off.  On 
his  way  across  the  campus  he  saw  strings  of  uni- 
formed boys  making  for  Grant  Field,  and  many 
wearing  sweaters  over  their  every-day  clothes. 
The  cage  was  situated  at  one  end  of  the  field  apart 
from  the  other  training-quarters.  When  Ken  got 
there  he  found  a  mob  of  players  crowding  to  enter 
the  door  of  the  big  barn-like  structure.  Others 
were  hurrying  away.  Near  the  door  a  man  was 
taking  up  tickets  like  a  doorkeeper  of  a  circus, 
and  he  kept  shouting:  "Get  your  certificates  from 
the  doctor.  Every  player  must  pass  a  physical 
examination.  Get  your  certificates." 

44 


THE    CAGE 

Ken  turned  somewhat  in  disgust  at  so  much 
red  tape  and  he  jostled  into  a  little  fellow,  almost 
knocking  him  over. 

"Wull!  Why  don't  you  fall  all  over  me?" 
growled  this  amiable  individual.  "For  two  cents 
I'd  hand  you  one." 

The  apology  on  Ken's  lips  seemed  to  halt  of  its 
own  accord. 

"Sorry  I  haven't  any  change  in  these  clothes," 
returned  Ken.  He  saw  a  wiry  chap,  older  than  he 
was,  but  much  smaller,  and  of  most  aggressive 
front.  He  had  round  staring  eyes,  a  protruding 
jaw,  and  his  mouth  turned  down  at  the  corners. 
He  wore  a  disreputable  uniform  and  a  small  green 
cap  over  one  ear. 

"Aw!   don't  get  funny!"  he  replied. 

Ken  moved  away  muttering  to  himself:  "That 
fellow's  a  grouch."  Much  to  his  amazement, 
when  he  got  to  the  training-house,  Ken  found  that 
he  could  not  get  inside  because  so  many  players 
were  there  ahead  of  him.  After  waiting  an  hour 
or  more  he  decided  he  could  not  have  his  physical 
examination  at  that  time,  and  he  went  back  to  the 
cage.  The  wide  door  was  still  blocked  with 
players,  but  at  the  other  end  of  the  building  Ken 
found  an  entrance.  He  squeezed  into  a  crowd  of 
students  and  worked  forward  until  stopped  by  a 
railing. 

Ken  was  all  eyes  and  breathless  with  interest. 
45 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

The  cage  was  a  huge,  open,  airy  room,  lighted  by 
many  windows,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
platform  where  he  stood,  it  was  entirely  enclosed 
by  heavy  netting.  The  floor  was  of  bare  ground 
well  raked  and  loosened  to  make  it  soft.  This 
immense  hall  was  full  of  a  motley  crowd  of  aspiring 
ball-players. 

Worry  Arthurs,  with  his  head  sunk  in  the  collar 
of  his  overcoat,  and  his  shoulders  hunched  up  as 
if  he  was  about  to  spring  upon  something,  paced 
up  and  down  the  rear  end  of  the  cage.  Behind 
him  a  hundred  or  more  players  in  line  slowly 
marched  toward  the  slab  of  rubber  which  marked 
the  batting  position.  Ken  remembered  that  the 
celebrated  coach  always  tried  out  new  players  at 
the  bat  first.  It  was  his  belief  that  batting  won 
games. 

"  Bunt  one  and  hit  one!"  he  yelled  to  the  batters. 

From  the  pitcher's  box  a  lanky  individual  was 
trying  to  locate  the  plate.  Ken  did  not  need  a 
second  glance  to  see  that  this  fellow  was  no 
pitcher. 

"Stop  posin',  and  pitch!"  yelled  Arthurs. 

One  by  one  the  batters  faced  the  plate,  swung 
valiantly  or  wildly  at  balls  and  essayed  bunts. 
Few  hit  the  ball  out  and  none  made  a  creditable 
bunt.  After  their  turn  at  bat  they  were  ordered 
to  the  other  end  of  the  cage,  where  they  fell  over 
one  another  trying  to  stop  the  balls  that  were  hit. 

46 


THE    CAGE 

Every  few  moments  the  coach  would  yell  for  one 
of  them,  any  one,  to  take  a  turn  at  pitching.  Ken 
noticed  that  Arthurs  gave  a  sharp  glance  at  each 
new  batter,  and  one  appeared  to  be  sufficient. 
More  and  more  ambitious  players  crowded  into  the 
cage,  until  there  were  so  many  that  batted  balls 
rarely  missed  hitting  some  one. 

Presently  Ken  Ward  awoke  from  his  thrilling 
absorption  in  the  scene  to  note  another  side  of  it. 
The  students  around  him  were  making  game  of 
the  players. 

"What  a  bunch!" 

"Look  at  that  fuzzy  gosling  with  the  yellow 
pants !" 

"Keep  your  shanks  out  of  the  way,  Freshie!" 

"Couldn't  hit  a  balloon!" 

Whenever  a  batter  hit  a  ball  into  the  crowd  of 
dodging  players  down  the  cage  these  students 
howled  with  glee.  Ken  discovered  that  he  was 
standing  near  Captain  Dale  and  other  members  of 
the  barred  varsity. 

"Say,  Dale,  how  do  the  candidates  shape  up  ?" 
asked  a  student. 

"This  is  a  disgrace  to  Wayne,"  declared  Dale, 
bitterly.  "I  never  saw  such  a  mob  of  spindle- 
legged  kids  in  my  life.  Look  at  them!  Scared 
to  death!  That  fellow  never  swung  at  a  ball  be- 
fore— that  one  never  heard  of  a  bunt — they  throw 
like  girls — Oh!  this  is  sickening,  fellows.  I  see 

47 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

where  Worry  goes  to  his  grave  this  year  and  old 
Wayne  gets  humbled  by  one-horse  colleges." 

Ken  took  one  surprised  glance  at  the  captain 
he  had  admired  so  much  and  then  he  slipped 
farther  over  in  the  crowd.  Perhaps  Dale  had 
spoken  truth,  yet  somehow  it  jarred  upon  Ken's 
sensitive  nature.  The  thing  that  affected  Ken 
most  was  the  earnestness  of  the  uniformed  boys 
trying  their  best  to  do  well  before  the  great  coach. 
Some  were  timid,  uncertain;  others  were  rash  and 
over-zealous.  Many  a  ball  cracked  off  a  player's 
knee  or  wrist,  and  more  than  once  Ken  saw  a 
bloody  finger.  It  was  cold  in  the  cage.  Even  an 
ordinarily  hit  ball  must  have  stung  the  hands,  and 
the  way  a  hard  grounder  cracked  was  enough  to 
excite  sympathy  among  those  scornful  spectators, 
if  nothing  more.  But  they  yelled  in  delight  at 
every  fumble,  at  everything  that  happened.  Ken 
kept  whispering  to  himself:  "I  can't  see  the  fun 
in  it.  I  can't!" 

Arthurs  dispensed  with  the  bunting  and  ordered 
one  hit  each  for  the  batters.  "Step  up  and  hit!" 
he  ordered,  hoarsely.  "Don't  be  afraid — never 
mind  that  crowd — step  into  the  ball  and  swing 
natural.  .  .  .  Next!  Hurry,  boys!" 

Suddenly  a  deep-chested  student  yelled  out  with 
a  voice  that  drowned  every  other  sound. 

"Hard  luck,  Worry!  No  use!  You'll  never 
find  a  hitter  among  those  misfits!" 

48 


THE    CAGE 

The  coach  actually  leaped  up  in  his  anger  and 
his  face  went  from  crimson  to  white.  Ken  thought 
it  was  likely  that  he  recognized  the  voice. 

"You  knocker!  You  knocker!"  he  cried. 
"That's  a  fine  college  spirit,  ain't  it?  You're  a 
fine  lot  of  students,  I  don't  think.  Now  shut  up, 
every  one  of  you,  or  I'll  fire  you  out  of  the  cage. 
.  .  .  And  right  here  at  the  start  you  knockers  take 
this  from  me — I'll  find  more  than  one  hitter  among 
those  kids!" 

A  little  silence  fell  while  the  coach  faced  that 
antagonistic  crowd  of  spectators.  Ken  was  amazed 
the  second  time,  and  now  because  of  the  intensity 
of  feeling  that  seemed  to  hang  in  the  air.  Ken 
felt  a  warm  rush  go  over  him,  and  that  moment 
added  greatly  to  his  already  strong  liking  for 
Worry  Arthurs. 

Then  the  coach  turned  to  his  work,  the  batting 
began  again,  and  the  crack  of  the  ball,  the  rush  of 
feet,  the  sharp  cries  of  the  players  mingled  once 
more  with  the  laughter  and  caustic  wit  of  the 
unsympathetic  audience. 

Ken  Ward  went  back  to  his  room  without  hav- 
ing removed  his  overcoat.  He  was  thoughtful 
that  night  and  rebellious  against  the  attitude  of 
the  student  body.  A  morning  paper  announced 
the  fact  that  over  three  hundred  candidates  had 
presented  themselves  to  Coach  Arthurs.  It  went 
on  to  say  that  the  baseball  material  represented 

4Q 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

was  not  worth  considering  and  that  old  Wayne's 
varsity  team  must  be  ranked  with  those  of  the 
fifth-rate  colleges.  This,  following  Ken's  ex- 
perience at  the  cage  on  the  first  day,  made  him 
angry  and  then  depressed.  The  glamour  of  the 
thing  seemed  to  fade  away.  Ken  lost  the  glow, 
the  exhilaration  of  his  first  feelings.  Everybody 
took  a  hopeless  view  of  Wayne's  baseball  pros- 
pects. Ken  Ward,  however,  was  not  one  to  stay 
discouraged  long,  and  when  he  came  out  of  his 
gloom  it  was  with  his  fighting  spirit  roused.  Once 
and  for  all  he  made  up  his  mind  to  work  heart  and 
soul  for  his  college,  to  be  loyal  to  Arthurs,  to  hope 
and  believe  in  the  future  of  the  new  varsity, 
whether  or  not  he  was  lucky  enough  to  win  a 
place  upon  it. 

Next  day,  going  early  to  the  training-quarters, 
he  took  his  place  in  a  squad  waiting  for  the  physi- 
cal examination.  It  was  a  wearisome  experience. 
At  length  Ken's  turn  came  with  two  other  players, 
one  of  whom  he  recognized  as  the  sour-complex- 
ioned  fellow  of  the  day  before. 

"Wull,  you're  pretty  fresh,"  he  said  to  Ken  as 
they  went  in.  He  had  a  most  exasperating 
manner. 

"  Say,  I  don't  like  you  a  whole  lot,"  retorted  Ken. 

Then  a  colored  attendant  ushered  them  into  a 
large  room  in  which  were  several  men.  The  boys 
were  stripped  to  the  waist. 

50 


THE    CAGE 

"Come  here,  Murray,"  said  the  doctor. 
"There's  some  use  in  looking  these  boys  over, 
particularly  this  husky  youngster." 

A  tall  man  in  a  white  sweater  towered  over  Ken. 
It  was  the  famous  trainer.  He  ran  his  hands  over 
Ken's  smooth  skin  and  felt  of  the  muscles. 

"Can  you  run  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Ken. 

"Are  you  fast?" 

"Yes." 

Further  inquiries  brought  from  Ken  his  name, 
age,  weight,  that  he  had  never  been  ill,  had  never 
used  tobacco  or  intoxicating  drinks. 

"Ward,  eh?  'Peg'  Ward,"  said  Murray, 
smiling.  "Worry  Arthurs  has  the  call  on  you — 
else,  my  boy,  I'd  whisper  football  in  your  ear. 
Mebbe  I  will,  anyhow,  if  you  keep  up  in  your 
studies.  That  '11  do  for  you." 

Ken's  companions  also  won  praise  from  the 
trainer.  They  gave  their  names  as  Raymond  and 
Weir.  The  former  weighed  only  one  hundred 
and  twenty-two,  but  he  was  a  knot  of  muscles. 
The  other  stood  only  five  feet,  but  he  was  very 
broad  and  heavy,  his  remarkably  compact  build 
giving  an  impression  of  great  strength.  Both  re- 
plied in  the  negative  to  the  inquiries  as  to  use  of 
tobacco  or  spirits. 

"Boys,  that's  what  we  like  to  hear,"  said  the 
doctor.  "You  three  ought  to  pull  together." 

Si 


T'HE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Ken  wondered  what  the  doctor  would  have  said 
if  he  had  seen  the  way  these  three  boys  glared  at 
each  other  in  the  dressing-room.  And  he  won- 
dered, too,  what  was  the  reason  for  such  open 
hostility.  The  answer  came  to  him  in  the  thought 
that  perhaps  they  were  both  trying  for  the  position 
he  wanted  on  the  varsity.  Most  likely  they  had 
the  same  idea  about  him.  That  was  the  secret  of 
little  Raymond's  pugnacious  front  and  Weir's 
pompous  air;  and  Ken  realized  that  the  same 
reason  accounted  for  his  own  attitude  toward  them. 
He  wanted  very  much  to  tell  Raymond  that  he  was 
a  little  grouch  and  Weir  that  he  looked  like  a 
puffed-up  toad.  All  the  same  Ken  was  not  blind  to 
Weir's  handsome  appearance.  The  sturdy  youngster 
had  an  immense  head,  a  great  shock  of  bright  brown 
hair,  flashing  gray  eyes,  and  a  clear  bronze  skin. 

"They'll  both  make  the  team,  I'll  bet,"  thought 
Ken.  "They  look  it.  I  hope  I  don't  have  to 
buck  against  them."  Then  as  they  walked  toward 
the  cage  Ken  forced  himself  to  ask  genially:  "Ray- 
mond, what  're  you  trying  for  ?  And  you,  Weir  ?" 

"Wull,  if  it's  any  of  your  fresh  business,  I'm 
not  trying  for  any  place.  I'm  going  to  play  in- 
field. You  can  carry  my  bat,"  replied  Raymond, 
sarcastically. 

"Much  obliged,"  retorted  Ken,  "I'm  not  going 
to  substitute.  I've  a  corner  on  that  varsity  in- 
field myself." 

5* 


THE    CAGE 

Weir  glanced  at  them  with  undisguised  disdain. 
"You  can  save  yourselves  useless  work  by  not  try- 
ing for  my  position.  I  intend  to  play  infield." 

"Wull,  puff-up,  now,  puff-up!"  growled  Ray- 
mond. 

Thus  the  three  self-appointed  stars  of  the  varsity 
bandied  words  among  themselves  as  they  crossed 
the  field.  At  the  cage  door  they  became  separated 
to  mingle  with  the  pushing  crowd  of  excited  boys 
in  uniforms. 

By  dint  of  much  squeezing  and  shoulder-work 
Ken  got  inside  the  cage.  He  joined  the  squad  in 
the  upper  end  and  got  in  line  for  the  batting. 
Worry  Arthurs  paced  wildly  to  and  fro  yelling 
for  the  boys  to  hit.  A  dense  crowd  of  students 
thronged  the  platform  and  laughed,  jeered,  and 
stormed  at  the  players.  The  cage  was  in  such 
an  uproar  that  Arthurs  could  scarcely  be  heard. 
Watching  from  the  line  Ken  saw  Weir  come  to  bat 
and  stand  aggressively  and  hit  the  ball  hard.  It 
scattered  the  flock  of  fielders.  Then  Raymond 
came  along,  and,  batting  left-handed,  did  likewise. 
Arthurs  stepped  forward  and  said  something  to 
both.  After  Ken's  turn  at  bat  the  coach  said 
to  him:  "Get  out  of  here.  Go  run  round  the 
tracL  Do  it  every  day.  Don't  come  back  until 
Monday." 

As  Ken  hurried  out  he  saw  and  felt  the  distinc- 
tion with  which  he  was  regarded  by  the  many 

53 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

players  whom  he  crowded  among  in  passing.  When 
he  reached  the  track  he  saw  Weir,  Raymond,  and 
half  a  dozen  other  fellows  going  round  at  a  jog- 
trot. Weir  was  in  the  lead,  setting  the  pace. 
Ken  fell  in  behind. 

The  track  was  the  famous  quarter-mile  track 
upon  which  Murray  trained  his  sprinters.  When 
Ken  felt  the  spring  of  the  cinder-path  in  his  feet, 
the  sensation  of  buoyancy,  the  eager  wildfire 
pride  that  flamed  over  him,  he  wanted  to  break 
into  headlong  flight.  The  first  turn  around  the 
track  was  delight;  the  second  pleasure  in  his  easy 
stride;  the  third  brought  a  realization  of  distance. 
When  Ken  had  trotted  a  mile  he  was  not  tired,  he 
still  ran  easily,  but  he  began  to  appreciate  that  his 
legs  were  not  wings.  The  end  of  the  second  mile 
found  him  sweating  freely  and  panting. 

Two  miles  were  enough  for  the  first  day.  Ken 
knew  it  and  he  began  to  wonder  why  the  others, 
especially  Weir,  did  not  know  it.  But  Weir  jogged 
on,  his  head  up,  his  hair  flying,  as  if  he  had  not  yet 
completed  his  first  quarter.  The  other  players 
stretched  out  behind  him.  Ken  saw  Raymond's 
funny  little  green  cap  bobbing  up  and  down,  and 
it  made  him  angry.  Why  could  not  the  grouch 
get  a  decent  cap,  anyway  ? 

At  the  end  of  the  third  mile  Ken  began  to  labor. 
His  feet  began  to  feel  weighted,  his  legs  to  ache, 
his  side  to  hurt.  He  was  wringing  wet;  his  skin 

54 


THE   CAGE 

burned;  his  breath  whistled.  But  he  kept  dog« 
gedly  on.  It  had  become  a  contest  now.  Ken 
felt  instinctively  that  every  runner  would  not  admit 
he  had  less  staying  power  than  the  others.  Ken 
declared  to  himself  that  he  could  be  as  bull-headed 
as  any  of  them.  Still  to  see  Weir  jogging  on 
steady  and  strong  put  a  kind  of  despair  on  Ken. 
For  every  lap  of  the  fourth  mile  a  runner  dropped 
out,  and  at  the  half  of  the  fifth  only  Weir,  Ray- 
mond, and  Ken  kept  to  the  track. 

Ken  hung  on  gasping  at  every  stride.  He  was 
afraid  his  heart  would  burst.  The  pain  in  his  side 
was  as  keen  as  a  knife  thrust.  His  feet  were  lead. 
Every  rod  he  felt  must  be  his  last,  yet  spurred  on 
desperately,  and  he  managed  to  keep  at  the  heels 
of  the  others.  It  might  kill  him,  but  he  would  not 
stop  until  he  dropped.  Raymond  was  wagging 
*long  ready  to  fall  any  moment,  and  Weir  waa 
trotting  slowly  with  head  down.  On  the  last  lap 
of  the  fifth  mile  they  all  stopped  as  by  one  ac- 
cord. Raymond  fell  on  the  grass;  Ken  staggered 
to  a  bench,  and  Weir  leaned  hard  against  the 
fence.  They  were  all  blowing  like  porpoises  and 
regarded  each  other  as  mortal  enemies.  Weir 
gazed  grandly  at  the  other  two;  Raymond  glow- 
ered savagely  at  him  and  then  at  Ken;  and  Ken 
in  turn  gave  them  withering  glances.  Without  a 
word  the  three  contestants  for  a  place  on  the 
varsity  then  went  their  several  ways. 

55 


VI 

OUT   ON  THE   FIELD 

WHEN  Ken  presented  himself  at  the  cage  on 
the  following  Monday  it  was  to  find  that 
Arthurs  had  weeded  out  all  but  fifty  of  the  candi- 
dates Every  afternoon  for  a  week  the  coach  put 
these  players  through  batting  and  sliding  practice, 
then  ordered  them  out  to  run  around  the  track. 
On  the  next  Monday  only  twenty-five  players  were 
left,  and  as  the  number  narrowed  down  the  work 
grew  more  strenuous,  the  rivalry  keener,  and  the 
tempers  of  the  boys  more  irascible. 

Ken  discovered  it  was  work  and  not  by  any 
means  pleasant  work.  He  fortified  himself  by  the 
thought  that  the  pleasure  and  glory,  the  real  play, 
was  all  to  come  as  a  reward.  Worry  Arthurs 
drove  them  relentlessly.  Nothing  suited  him; 
not  a  player  knew  how  to  hold  a  bat,  to  stand  at 
the  plate,  to  slide  right,  or  to  block  a  ground 
ball. 

"Don't  hit  with  your  left  hand  on  top — unless 
you're  left-handed.  Don't  grip  the  end  of  the  bat. 
There!  Hold  steady  now,  step  out  and  into  the 

56 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

ball,  and  swing  clean  and  levef.  If  you're  afraid 
of  bein'  hit  by  the  ball,  get  out  of  here!" 

It  was  plain  to  Ken  that  not  the  least  of  Arthurs' 
troubles  was  the  incessant  gibing  of  the  students 
on  the  platform.  There  was  always  a  crowd 
watching  the  practice,  noisy,  scornful,  abusive. 
They  would  never  recover  from  the  shock  of  hav- 
ing that  seasoned  champion  varsity  barred  out  of 
athletics.  Every  once  in  a  while  one  of  them 
would  yell  out:  "Wait,  Worry!  oh!  Worry,  wait 
till  the  old  varsity  plays  your  yanigans!"  And 
every  time  the  coach's  face  would  burn.  But  he 
had  ceased  to  talk  back  to  the  students.  Besides, 
the  athletic  directors  were  always  present.  They 
mingled  with  the  candidates  and  talked  baseball 
to  them  and  talked  to  Arthurs.  Some  of  them 
might  have  played  ball  once,  but  they  did  not  talk 
like  it.  Their  advice  and  interference  served  only 
to  make  the  coach's  task  harder. 

Another  Monday  found  only  twenty  players  in 
the  squad.  That  day  Arthurs  tried  out  catchers, 
pitchers,  and  infielders.  He  had  them  all  throw- 
ing, running,  fielding,  working  like  Trojans. 
They  would  jump  at  his  yell,  dive  after  the  ball, 
fall  over  it,  throw  it  anywhere  but  in  the  right  di- 
rection, rUn  wild,  and  fight  among  themselves. 
The  ever-flowing  ridicule  from  the  audience  was 
anything  but  a  stimulus.  So  much  of  it  coming 
from  the  varsity  and  their  adherents  kept  con- 

57 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

tinually  in  the  minds  of  the  candidates  their  lack 
of  skill,  their  unworthiness  to  represent  the  great 
university  in  such  a  popular  sport  as  baseball. 
So  that  even  if  there  were  latent  ability  in  any  of 
the  candidates  no  one  but  the  coach  could  see  it. 
And  often  he  could  not  conceal  his  disgust  and 
hopelessness. 

"Battin'  practice!"  he  ordered,  sharply.  "Two 
hits  and  a  bunt  to-day.  Get  a  start  on  the  bunt 
and  dig  for  first.  Hustle  now!" 

He  placed  one  player  to  pitch  to  the  hitters, 
another  to  catch,  and  as  soon  as  the  hitters  had 
their  turn  they  took  to  fielding.  Two  turns  for 
each  at  bat  left  the  coach  more  than  dissatisfied. 

"You're  all  afraid  of  the  ball,"  he  yelled. 
"This  ain't  no  dodgin'  game.  Duck  your  nut  if 
the  ball's  goin'  to  hit  you,  but  stop  lookin'  for  it. 
Forget  it.  Another  turn  now.  I'm  goin'  to  um- 
pire. Let's  see  if  you  know  the  difference  between 
a  ball  and  a  strike." 

He  changed  the  catcher  and,  ordering  Ken  to 
the  pitcher's  box,  he  stepped  over  behind  him. 
"Peg,"  he  said,  speaking  low,  "you're  not  tryin* 
for  pitcher,  I  know,  but  you've  got  speed  and  con- 
trol and  I  want  you  to  peg  'em  a  few.  Mind  now, 
easy  with  your  arm.  By  that  I  mean  hold  in,  don't 
whip  it.  And  you  peg  'em  as  near  where  I  say  as 
you  can;  see  ?" 

As  the  players,  one  after  another,  faced  the  box, 
58 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

the  coach  kept  saying  to  Ken:  "Drive  that  fellow 
away  from  the  plate  .  .  .  give  this  one  a  low 
ball  .  .  .  now  straight  over  the  pan.  Say,  Peg, 
you've  got  a  nice  ball  there  .  .  .  put  a  fast  one 
under  this  fellow's  chin." 

"Another  turn,  now,  boys!"  he  yelled.  "I  tell 
you — stand  up  to  the  plate!"  Then  he  whispered 
to  Ken.  "Hit  every  one  of  'em!  Peg  'em  now, 
any  place." 

"Hit  them  ?"  asked  Ken,  amazed. 

"That's  what   I  said." 

"But— Mr.  Arthurs—" 

"See  here,  Peg.  Don't  talk  back  to  me.  Do 
as  I  say.  We'll  peg  a  little  nerve  into  this  bunch. 
Now  I'll  go  back  of  the  plate  and  make  a  bluff." 

Arthurs  went  near  to  the  catcher's  position. 
Then  he  said:  "Now,  fellows,  Ward's  pretty  wild 
and  I've  told  him  to  speed  up  a  few.  Stand  right 
up  and  step  into  'em." 

The  first  batter  was  Weir.  Ken  swung  easily 
and  let  drive.  Straight  as  a  string  the  ball  sped 
for  the  batter.  Like  a  flash  he  dropped  flat  in  the 
dust  and  the  ball  just  gi'azed  him.  It  was  a  narrow 
escape.  Weir  jumped  up,  his  face  flaring,  his 
hair  on  end,  and  he  gazed  hard  at  Ken  before 
picking  up  the  bat. 

"Batter  up!"  ordered  the  coach.  "Do  you 
think  this  's  a  tea-party  ?" 

Weir  managed  by  quick  contortions  to  get 
6  59 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

through  his  time  at  bat  without  being  hit.  Three 
players  following  him  were  not  so  lucky. 

"  Didn't  I  say  he  was  wild  ?"  yelled  the  coach. 
"Batter  up,  now!" 

The  next  was  little  Raymond.  He  came  for- 
ward cautiously,  eying  Ken  with  disapproval.  Ken 
could  not  resist  putting  on  a  little  more  steam, 
and  the  wind  of  the  first  ball  whipped  off  Ray- 
mond's green  cap.  Raymond  looked  scared  and 
edged  away  from  the  plate,  and  as  the  second 
ball  came  up  he  stepped  wide  with  his  left  foot. 

"Step  into  the  ball,"  said  the  coach.  "Don't 
pull  away.  Step  in  or  you'll  never  hit." 

The  third  ball  cracked  low  down  on  Raymond's 

kg. 

"Oh! — Oh! — Oh!"  he  howled,  beginning  to  hop 
and  hobble  about  the  cage. 

"Next  batter!"  called  out  Arthurs. 

And  so  it  went  on  until  the  most  promising 
player  in  the  cage  came  to  bat.  This  was  Graves, 
a  light-haired  fellow,  tall,  built  like  a  wedge.  He 
had  more  confidence  than  any  player  in  the  squad 
and  showed  up  well  in  all  departments  of  the  game. 
Moreover,  he  was  talky,  aggressive,  and  more  in- 
clined to  be  heard  and  felt.  He  stepped  up  and 
swung  his  bat  at  Ken. 

"You  wild  freshman!    If  you  hit  me!"  he  cried. 

Ken  Ward  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  any  of  his 
rivals  for  places  on  the  team,  but  he  especially  did 

60 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

not  like  Graves.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider  the 
reason  of  it  at  the  moment,  still  he  remembered 
several  tricks  Graves  had  played,  and  he  was  not 
altogether  sorry  for  the  coach's  order.  Swinging  a 
little  harder,  Ken  threw  straight  at  Graves. 

"  fPham!"  The  ball  struck  him  fair  on  the  hip. 
Limping  away  from  the  plate  he  shook  his  fist  at 
Ken. 

"Batter  up!"  yelled  Arthurs.  "A  little  more 
speed  now,  Peg.  You  see  it  ain't  nothin'  to  get 
hit.  Why,  that's  in  the  game.  It  don't  hurt 
much.  I  never  cared  when  I  used  to  get  hit. 
Batter  up!" 

Ken  sent  up  a  very  fast  ball,  on  the  outside  of 
the  plate.  The  batter  swung  wide,  and  the  ball, 
tipping  the  bat,  glanced  to  one  side  and  struck 
Arthurs  in  the  stomach  with  a  deep  sound. 

Arthurs'  round  face  went  red;  he  gurgled  and 
gasped  for  breath;  he  was  sinking  to  his  knees 
when  the  yelling  and  crowing  of  the  students  on 
the  platform  straightened  him  up.  He  walked 
about  a  few  minutes,  then  ordered  sliding  practice. 

The  sliding-board  was  brought  out.  It  was 
almost  four  feet  wide  and  twenty  long  and  covered 
with  carpet. 

"Run  hard,  boys,  and  don't  let  up  just  before 
you  slide.  Keep  your  speed  and  dive.  Now 
at  it!" 

A  line  of  players  formed  down  the  cage.  The 
61 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

first  one  dashed  forward  and  plunged  at  the  board, 
hitting  it  with  a  bang.  The  carpet  was  slippery 
and  he  slid  off  and  rolled  in  the  dust.  The  second 
player  leaped  forward  and,  sliding  too  soon,  barely 
reached  the  board.  One  by  one  the  others  followed. 

"Run  fast  now!'*  yelled  the  coach.  "Don't 
flinch.  .  .  .  Go  down  hard  and  slide  .  .  .  light 
on  your  hands  .  .  .  keep  your  heads  up  ... 
slide!" 

This  feature  of  cage -work  caused  merriment 
among  the  onlookers.  That  sliding-board  was  a 
wonderful  and  treacherous  thing.  Most  players 
slid  off  it  as  swift  as  a  rocket.  Arthurs  kept  them 
running  so  fast  and  so  close  together  that  at  times 
one  would  shoot  off  the  board  just  as  the  next 
would  strike  it.  They  sprawled  on  the  ground, 
rolled  over,  and  rooted  in  the  dust.  One  skinned 
his  nose  on  the  carpet;  another  slid  the  length 
of  the  board  on  his  ear.  All  the  time  they 
kept  running  and  sliding,  the  coach  shouted  to 
them,  and  the  audience  roared  with  laughter.  But 
it  was  no  fun  for  the  sliders.  Raymond  made  a 
beautiful  slide,  and  Graves  was  good,  but  all  the 
others  were  ludicrous. 

It  was  a  happy  day  for  Ken,  and  for  all  the  can- 
didates, when  the  coach  ordered  them  out  on  the 
field.  This  was  early  in  March.  The  sun  was 
bright,  the  frost  all  out  of  the  ground,  and  a  breath 
of  spring  was  in  the  air.  How  different  it  was 

62 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

from  the  cold,  gloomy  cage!  Then  the  mocking 
students,  although  more  in  evidence  than  before, 
were  confined  to  the  stands  and  bleachers,  and 
could  not  so  easily  be  heard.  But  the  presence  of 
the  regular  varsity  team,  practising  at  the  far  end 
of  Grant  Field,  had  its  effect  on  the  untried  players. 

The  coach  divided  his  players  into  two  nines 
and  had  them  practise  batting  first,  then  fielding, 
and  finally  started  them  in  a  game,  with  each  can- 
didate playing  the  position  he  hoped  to  make  on 
the  varsity. 

It  was  a  weird  game.  The  majority  of  the 
twenty  candidates  displayed  little  knowledge  of 
baseball.  School-boys  on  the  commons  could 
have  beaten  them.  They  were  hooted  and  hissed 
by  the  students,  and  before  half  the  innings  were 
played  the  bleachers  and  stands  were  empty.  That 
was  what  old  Wayne's  students  thought  of  Ar- 
thurs' candidates. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  most  of  them,  Weir,  Ray- 
mond, and  Graves  showed  they  had  played  the 
game  somewhere.  Weir  at  short-stop  covered 
ground  well,  but  he  could  not  locate  first  base. 
Raymond  darted  here  and  there  quick  as  a  flash, 
and  pounced  upon  the  ball  like  a  huge  frog. 
Nothing  got  past  him,  but  he  juggled  the  ball. 
Graves  was  a  finished  and  beautiful  fielder;  he 
was  easy,  sure,  yet  fast,  and  his  throw  from  third 
to  first  went  true  as  a  line. 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Graves's  fine  work  accounted  for  Ken  Ward's 
poor  showing.  Both  were  trying  for  third  base, 
and  when  Ken  once  saw  his  rival  play  out  on  the 
field  he  not  only  lost  heart  and  became  confused, 
but  he  instinctively  acknowledged  that  Graves 
was  far  his  superior.  After  all  his  hopes  and  the 
kind  interest  of  the  coach  it  was  a  most  bitter 
blow.  Ken  had  never  played  so  poor  a  game. 
The  ball  blurred  in  his  tear-wet  eyes  and  looked 
double.  He  did  not  field  a  grounder.  He  muffed 
foul  flies  and  missed  thrown  balls.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  almost  all  of  the  players  around  him 
were  in  the  same  boat.  He  could  think  of  noth- 
ing but  the  dashing  away  of  his  hopes.  What  was 
the  use  of  trying?  But  he  kept  trying,  and  the 
harder  he  tried  the  worse  he  played.  At  the  bat 
he  struck  out,  fouled  out,  never  hit  the  ball  square 
at  all.  Graves  got  two  well-placed  hits  to  right 
field.  Then  when  Ken  was  in  the  field  Graves 
would  come  down  the  coaching  line  and  talk  to 
him  in  a  voice  no  one  else  could  hear. 

"You've  got  a  swell  chance  to  make  this  team, 
you  have,  not!  Third  base  is  my  job,  Freshie. 
Why,  you  tow-head,  you  couldn't  play  marbles. 
You  butter  -  finger,  can't  you  stop  anything? 
You  can't  even  play  sub  on  this  team.  Remem- 
ber, Ward,  I  said  I'd  get  you  for  hitting  me  that 
day.  You  hit  me  with  a  potato  once,  too.  I'll 
chase  you  off  this  team." 

64 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

For  once  Ken's  spirit  was  so  crushed  and 
humbled  that  he  could  not  say  a  word  to  his  rival. 
He  even  felt  he  deserved  it  all.  When  the  prac- 
tice ended,  and  he  was  walking  off  the  field  with 
hanging  head,  trying  to  bear  up  under  the  blow, 
he  met  Arthurs. 

"Hello!  Peg,"  said  the  coach,  "I'm  going  your 
way." 

Ken  walked  along  feeling  Arthurs'  glance  upon 
him,  but  he  was  ashamed  to  raise  his  head. 

"  Peg,  you  were  up  in  the  air  to-day — way  off — 
you  lost  your  nut." 

He  spoke  kindly  and  put  his  hand  on  Ken's 
arm.  Ken  looked  up  to  see  that  the  coach's  face 
was  pale  and  tired,  with  the  characteristic  worried 
look  more  marked  than  usual. 

"Yes,  I  was,"  replied  Ken,  impulsively.  "I 
can  play  better  than  I  did  to-day — but — Mr. 
Arthurs,  I'm  not  in  Graves's  class  as  a  third- 
baseman.  I  know  it." 

Ken  said  it  bravely,  though  there  was  a  catch  in 
his  voice.  The  coach  looked  closely  at  him. 

"  So  you're  sayin'  a  good  word  for  Graves,  plug- 
gin'  his  game." 

"I'd  love  to  make  the  team,  but  old  Wayne 
must  have  the  best  players  you  can  get." 

"Peg,  I  said  once  you  and  me  were  goin*  to 
get  along.  I  said  also  that  college  baseball  is 
flayed  with  the  heart.  You  lost  your  heart.  So 

65 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

did  most  of  the  kids.  Well,  it  ain't  no  wonder. 
This  's  a  tryin'  time.  I'm  playin'  them  against 
each  other,  and  no  fellow  knows  where  he's  at. 
Now,  I've  seen  all  along  that  you  weren't  a  natural 
infielder.  I  played  you  at  third  to-day  to  get  that 
idea  out  of  your  head.  To-morrow  I'll  try  you 
in  the  outfield.  You  ain't  no  quitter,  Peg." 

Ken  hurried  to  his  room  under  the  stress  of  a 
Complete  revulsion  of  feeling.  His  liking  for  the 
coach  began  to  grow  into  something  more.  It 
was  strange  to  Ken  what  power  a  few  words  from 
Arthurs  had  to  renew  his  will  and  hope  and  dar- 
ing. How  different  Arthurs  was  when  not  on  the 
field.  There  he  was  stern  and  sharp.  Ken  could 
not  study  that  night,  and  he  slept  poorly.  His 
revival  of  hope  did  not  dispel  his  nervous  excite- 
ment. 

He  went  out  into  Grant  Field  next  day  fighting 
himself.  When  in  the  practice  Arthurs  assigned 
him  to  a  right-field  position,  he  had  scarcely  taken 
his  place  when  he  became  conscious  of  a  queer 
inclination  to  swallow  often,  of  a  numbing  tight 
band  round  his  chest.  He  could  not  stand  still; 
his  hands  trembled;  there  was  a  mist  before  his 
eyes.  His  mind  was  fixed  upon  himself  and  upon 
the  other  five  outfielders  trying  to  make  the 
team.  He  saw  the  players  in  the  infield  pace 
their  positions  restlessly,  run  without  aim  when 
the  ball  was  hit  or  thrown,  collide  with  each  other, 


OUT    ON    THE    FIELD 

let  the  ball  go  between  their  hands  and  legs,  throw 
wildly,  and  sometimes  stand  as  if  transfixed  when 
they  ought  to  have  been  in  action.  But  all  this 
was  not  significant  to  Ken.  He  saw  everything 
that  happened,  but  he  thought  only  that  he  must 
make  a  good  showing;  he  must  not  miss  any  flies, 
or  let  a  ball  go  beyond  him.  He  absolutely  must 
do  the  right  thing.  The  air  of  Grant  Field  was 
charged  with  intensity  of  feeling,  and  Ken  thought 
it  was  all  his  own.  His  baseball  fortune  was  at 
stake,  and  he  worked  himself  in  such  a  frenzy 
that  if  a  ball  had  been  batted  in  his  direction  he 
might  not  have  seen  it  at  all.  Fortunately  none 
came  his  way. 

The  first  time  at  bat  he  struck  out  ignominious- 
ly,  poking  weakly  at  the  pitcher's  out-curves.  The 
second  time  he  popped  up  a  little  fly.  On  the 
next  trial  the  umpire  called  him  out  on  strikes. 
At  his  last  chance  Ken  was  desperate.  He  knew 
the  coach  placed  batting  before  any  other  depart- 
ment of  the  game.  Almost  sick  with  the  torture 
of  the  conflicting  feelings,  Ken  went  up  to  the 
plate  and  swung  blindly.  To  his  amaze  he 
cracked  a  hard  fly  to  left-centre,  far  between  the 
fielders.  Like  a  startled  deer  Ken  broke  into  a 
run.  He  turned  first  base  and  saw  that  he  might 
stretch  the  hit  into  a  three-bagger.  He  knew  he 
could  run,  and  never  had  he  so  exerted  himself. 
Second  base  sailed  under  him,  and  he  turned  in 

67 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

line  for  the  third.  Watching  Graves,  he  saw  him 
run  for  the  base  and  stand  ready  to  catch  the 
throw-in. 

Without  slacking  his  speed  in  the  least  Ken 
leaped  into  the  air  headlong  for  the  base.  He 
heard  the  crack  of  the  ball  as  it  hit  Graves's  glove. 
Then  with  swift  scrape  on  hands  and  breast  he 
was  sliding  in  the  dust.  He  stopped  suddenly  as  if 
blocked  by  a  stone  wall.  Something  hard  struck 
him  on  the  head.  A  blinding  light  within  his 
brain  seemed  to  explode  into  glittering  slivers. 
A  piercing  pain  shot  through  him.  Then  from 
darkness  and  a  great  distance  sounded  a  voice: 

"Ward,  I  said  I'd  get  you!" 


VII 

ANNIHILATION 

THAT  incident  put  Ken  out  of  the  practice 
for  three  days.  He  had  a  bruise  over  his 
ear  as  large  as  a  small  apple.  Ken  did  not  mind 
the  pain  nor  the  players'  remarks  that  he  had  a 
swelled  head  anyway,  but  he  remembered  with 
slow-gathering  wrath  Graves's  words:  "I  said 
I'd  get  you!" 

He  remembered  also  Graves's  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion put  by  the  coach.  "I  was  only  tagging  him. 
I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  him."  That  rankled  inside 
Ken.  He  kept  his  counsel,  however,  even  evad- 
ing a  sharp  query  put  by  Arthurs,  and  as  much 
as  it  was  possible  he  avoided  the  third-baseman. 

Hard  practice  was  the  order  of  every  day,  and 
most  of  it  was  batting.  The  coach  kept  at  the 
candidates  everlastingly,  and  always  his  cry  was: 
"Toe  the  plate,  left  foot  a  little  forward,  step  into 
the  ball  and  swing!"  At  the  bat  Ken  made  fa- 
vorable progress  because  the  coach  was  always 
there  behind  him  with  encouraging  words;  in  the 
field,  however,  he  made  a  mess  of  it,  and  grew 
steadily  worse. 

69 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

The  directors  of  the  Athletic  Association  had 
called  upon  the  old  varsity  to  go  out  and  coach 
the  new  aspirants  for  college  fame.  The  varsity 
had  refused.  Even  the  players  of  preceding  years, 
what  few  were  in  or  near  the  city,  had  declined  to 
help  develop  Wayne's  stripling  team.  But  some 
of  the  older  graduates,  among  them  several  of  the 
athletic  directors,  appeared  on  the  field.  When 
Arthurs  saw  them  he  threw  up  his  hands  in  rage 
and  despair.  That  afternoon  Ken  had  three  well- 
meaning  but  old-fashioned  ball-players  coach  him 
in  the  outfield.  He  had  them  one  at  a  time, 
which  was  all  that  saved  him  from  utter  distrac- 
tion. One  told  him  to  judge  a  fly  by  the  sound 
when  the  ball  was  hit.  Another  told  him  to  play 
in  close,  and  when  the  ball  was  batted  to  turn  and 
run  with  it.  The  third  said  he  must  play  deep 
and  sprint  in  for  the  fly.  Then  each  had  different 
ideas  as  to  how  batters  should  be  judged,  about 
throwing  to  bases,  about  backing  up  the  other 
fielders.  Ken's  bewilderment  grew  greater  and 
greater.  He  had  never  heard  of  things  they  ad- 
vocated, and  he  began  to  think  he  did  not  know 
anything  about  the  game.  And  what  made  his 
condition  of  mind  border  on  imbecility  was  a  hur- 
ried whisper  from  Arthurs  between  innings :  "  Peg, 
don't  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  'em  fat-head 
grad.  coaches." 

Practice  days  succeeding  that  were  worse  night- 

70 


ANNIHILATION 

mares  to  Ken  Ward  than  the  days  he  had  spent 
in  constant  fear  of  the  sophomores.  It  was  a  ter- 
ribly feverish  time  of  batting  balls,  chasing  balls, 
and  of  having  dinned  into  his  ears  thousands  of 
orders,  rules  of  play,  talks  on  college  spirit  in 
athletics — all  of  which  conflicted  so  that  it  was 
meaningless  to  him.  During  this  dark  time  one 
ray  of  light  was  the  fact  that  Arthurs  never  spoke 
a  sharp  word  to  him.  Ken  felt  vaguely  that  he 
was  whirling  in  some  kind  of  a  college  athletic 
chaos,  out  of  which  he  would  presently  emerge. 

Toward  the  close  of  March  the  weather  grew 
warm,  the  practice  field  dried  up,  and  baseball 
should  have  been  a  joy  to  Ken.  But  it  was  not. 
At  times  he  had  a  shameful  wish  to  quit  the  field 
for  good,  but  he  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  the 
coach.  The  twenty-fifth,  the  day  scheduled  for 
the  game  with  the  disgraced  varsity  team,  loomed 
closer  and  closer.  Its  approach  was  a  fearful 
thing  for  Ken.  Every  day  he  cast  furtive  glances 
down  the  field  to  where  the  varsity  held  practice. 
Ken  had  nothing  to  say;  he  was  as  glum  as  most 
of  the  other  candidate^  but  he  had  heard  gossip 
in  the  lecture-rooms,  in  the  halls,  on  the  street, 
everywhere,  and  it  concerned  this  game.  What 
would  the  old  varsity  do  to  Arthurs'  new  team  ? 
Curiosity  ran  as  high  as  the  feeling  toward  the 
athletic  directors.  Resentment  flowed  from  every 
source.  Ken  somehow  got  the  impression  that  he 

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THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

was  blamable  for  being  a  member  of  the  coach's 
green  squad.  So  Ken  Ward  fluctuated  between 
two  fears,  one  as  bad  as  the  other — that  he  would 
not  be  selected  to  play,  and  the  other  that  he 
would  be  selected.  It  made  no  difference.  He 
would  be  miserable  if  not  chosen,  and  if  he  was — • 
how  on  earth  would  he  be  able  to  keep  his  knees 
from  wobbling  ?  Then  the  awful  day  dawned. 

Coach  Arthurs  met  all  his  candidates  at  the 
cage.  He  came  late,  he  explained,  because  he 
wanted  to  keep  them  off  the  field  until  time 
for  practice.  To-day  he  appeared  more  grave 
than  worried,  and  where  the  boys  expected  a 
severe  lecture,  he  simply  said:  "I'll  play  as  many 
of  you  as  I  can.  Do  your  best,  that's  all.  Don't 
mind  what  these  old  players  say.  They  were  kids 
once,  though  they  seem  to  have  forgotten  it.  Try 
to  learn  from  them," 

It  was  the  first  time  the  candidates  had  been 
taken  upon  the  regular  diamond  of  Grant  Field. 
Ken  had  peeped  in  there  once  to  be  impressed  by 
the  beautiful  level  playground,  and  especially  the 
magnificent  turreted  grandstand  and  the  great 
sweeping  stretches  of  bleachers.  Then  they  had 
been  empty;  now,  with  four  thousand  noisy 
students  and  thousands  of  other  spectators  be- 
sides, they  stunned  him.  He  had  never  imagined 
a  crowd  coming  to  see  the  game. 

Perhaps  Arthurs  had  not  expected  it  either,  for 
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ANNIHILATION 

Ken  heard  him  mutter  grimly  to  himself.  He 
ordered  practice  at  once,  and  called  off  the  names 
of  those  he  had  chosen  to  start  the  game.  As  one 
in  a  trance  Ken  Ward  found  himself  trotting  out 
to  right  field. 

A  long-rolling  murmur  that  was  half  laugh,  half 
taunt,  rose  from  the  stands.  Then  it  quickly  sub- 
sided. From  his  position  Ken  looked  for  the 
players  of  the  old  varsity,  but  they  had  not  yet 
come  upon  the  field,,  Of  the  few  balls  batted  to 
Ken  in  practice  he  muffed  only  one,  and  he  was 
just  beginning  to  feel  that  he  might  acquit  himself 
creditably  when  the  coach  called  the  team  in. 
Arthurs  had  hardly  given  his  new  players  time 
enough  to  warm  up,  but  likewise  they  had  not  had 
time  to  make  any  fumbles. 

All  at  once  a  hoarse  roar  rose  from  the  stands, 
then  a  thundering  clatter  of  thousands  of  feet  as 
the  students  greeted  the  appearance  of  the  old 
varsity.  It  was  applause  that  had  in  it  all  the 
feeling  of  the  undergraduates  for  the  champion- 
ship team,  many  of  whom  they  considered  had 
been  unjustly  barred  by  the  directors.  Love, 
loyalty,  sympathy,  resentment — all  pealed  up  to 
the  skies  in  that  acclaim.  It  rolled  out  over  the 
heads  of  Arthurs'  shrinking  boys  as  they  huddled 
together  on  the  bench. 

Ken  Ward,  for  one,  was  flushing  and  thrilling. 
In  that  moment  he  lost  his  gloom.  He  watched 

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THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

the  varsity  come  trotting  across  the  field,  a  doughty 
band  of  baseball  warriors.  Each  wore  a  sweater 
with  the  huge  white  "W"  shining  like  a  star. 
Many  of  those  players  had  worn  that  honored 
varsity  letter  for  three  years.  It  did  seem  a  shame 
to  bar  them  from  this  season's  team.  Ken  found 
himself  thinking  of  the  matter  from  their  point 
of  view,  and  his  sympathy  was  theirs. 

More  than  that,  he  gloried  in  the  look  of  them, 
in  the  trained,  springy  strides,  in  the  lithe,  erect 
forms,  in  the  assurance  in  every  move.  Every  de- 
tail of  that  practice  photographed  itself  upon  Ken 
Ward's  memory,  and  he  knew  he  would  never 
forget. 

There  was  Dale,  veteran  player,  captain  and 
pitcher  of  the  nine,  hero  of  victories  over  Place 
and  Herne.  There  was  Hogan,  catcher  for  three 
seasons,  a  muscular  fellow,  famed  for  his  snap- 
throw  to  the  bases  and  his  fiendish  chasing  of  foul 
flies  There  was  Hickle,  the  great  first-baseman, 
whom  the  professional  leagues  were  trying  to  get. 
What  a  reach  he  had;  how  easily  he  scooped  in 
the  ball;  low,  high,  wide,  it  made  no  difference  to 
him.  There  was  Canton  at  second,  Hollis  at 
short,  Burns  at  third,  who  had  been  picked  for 
the  last  year's  Ail-American  College  Team.  Then 
there  was  Dreer,  brightest  star  of  all,  the  fleet, 
hard-hitting  centre-fielder.  This  player  particu- 
larly fascinated  Ken.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to 

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ANNIHILATION 

see  him  run.  The  ground  seemed  to  fly  behind 
him.  When  the  ball  was  hit  high  he  wheeled  with 
his  back  to  the  diamond  and  raced  out,  suddenly 
to  turn  with  unerring  judgment — and  the  ball 
dropped  into  his  hands.  On  low  line  hits  he 
showed  his  fleetness,  for  he  was  like  a  gleam  of 
light  in  his  forward  dash;  and,  however  the  ball 
presented,  shoulder  high,  low  by  his  knees,  or  on 
a  short  bound,  he  caught  it.  Ken  Ward  saw  with 
despairing  admiration  what  it  meant  to  be  a  great 
outfielder. 

Then  Arthurs  called  "Play  ball!"  giving  the 
old  varsity  the  field. 

With  a  violent  start  Ken  Ward  came  out  of  his 
rhapsody.  He  saw  a  white  ball  tossed  on  the 
diamond.  Dale  received  it  from  one  of  the  fielders 
and  took  his  position  in  the  pitcher's  box.  The 
uniform  set  ofFhis  powerful  form;  there  was  some- 
thing surly  and  grimly  determined  in  his  face. 
He  glanced  about  to  his  players,  as  if  from  long 
habit,  and  called  out  gruffly:  "Get  in  the  game, 
fellows!  No  runs  for  this  scrub  outfit!"  Then, 
with  long-practised  swing,  he  delivered  the  ball. 
It  travelled  plateward  swift  as  the  flight  of  a 
white  swallow.  The  umpire  called  it  a  strike  on 
Weir;  the  same  on  the  next  pitch;  the  third  waj 
wide.  Weir  missed  the  fourth  and  was  out. 
Raymond  followed  on  the  batting  list.  To-day, 
as  he  slowly  stepped  toward  the  plate,  seemingly 
6  75 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

smaller  and  glummer  than  ever,  it  was  plain  he 
was  afraid.  The  bleachers  howled  at  the  little 
green  cap  sticking  over  his  ear.  Raymond  did 
not  swing  at  the  ball;  he  sort  of  reached  out  his 
bat  at  the  first  three  pitches,  stepping  back  from 
the  plate  each  time.  The  yell  that  greeted  his 
weak  attempt  seemed  to  shrivel  him  up  Also  it 
had  its  effect  on  the  youngsters  huddling  around 
Arthurs.  Graves  went  up  and  hit  a  feeble 
grounder  to  Dale  and  was  thrown  out  at  first. 

Ken  knew  the  half-inning  was  over;  he  saw  the 
varsity  players  throw  aside  their  gloves  and  trot 
in.  But  either  he  could  not  rise  or  he  was  glued 
to  the  bench.  Then  Arthurs  pulled  him  up,  say- 
ing, "Watch  sharp,  Peg,  these  fellows  are  right- 
field  hitters !"  At  the  words  all  Ken's  blood  turned 
to  ice.  He  ran  out  into  the  field  fighting  the  cold- 
est, most  sickening  sensation  he  ever  had  in  his 
life.  The  ice  in  his  veins  all  went  to  the  pit  of 
his  stomach  and  there  formed  into  a  heavy  lump. 
Other  times  when  he  had  been  frightened  flitted 
through  his  mind.  It  had  been  bad  when  he 
fought  with  Greaser,  and  worse  when  he  ran  with 
the  outlaws  in  pursuit,  and  the  forest  fire  was 
appalling.  But  Ken  felt  he  would  gladly  have 
changed  places  at  that  moment.  He  dreaded  the 
mocking  bleachers. 

Of  the  candidates  chosen  to  play  against  the 
varsity  Ken  knew  McCord  at  first,  Raymond  at 

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ANNIHILATION 

second,  Weir  at  short,  Graves  at  third.  He  did 
not  know  even  the  names  of  the  others.  All  of 
them,  except  Graves,  appeared  too  young  to  play 
an  that  game. 

Dreer  was  first  up  for  the  varsity,  and  Ken 
shivered  all  over  when  the  lithe  centre-fielder 
stepped  to  the  left  side  of  the  plate.  Ken  went 
out  deeper,  for  he  knew  most  hard-hitting  left- 
handers hit  to  right  field.  But  Dreer  bunted  the 
first  ball  teasingly  down  the  third-base  line.  Fleet 
as  a  deer,  he  was  across  the  bag  before  the  in- 
fielder  reached  the  balL  Hollis  was  next  up.  On 
the  first  pitch,  as  Dreer  got  a  fast  start  for  second, 
Hollis  bunted  down  the  first-base  line.  Pitcher 
and  baseman  ran  for  the  bunt;  Hollis  was  safe, 
and  the  sprinting  Dreer  went  to  third  without  even 
drawing  a  throw.  A  long  pealing  yell  rolled  over 
the  bleachers.  Dale  sent  coaches  to  the  coach- 
ing lines.  Hickle,  big  and  formidable,  hurried  to 
the  plate,  swinging  a  long  bat.  He  swung  it  as 
if  he  intended  to  knock  the  ball  out  of  the  field. 
When  the  pitcher  lifted  his  arm  Dreer  dashed  for 
home-base,  and  seemed  beating  the  ball.  But 
Hickle  deftly  dumped  it  down  the  line  and  broke 
for  first  while  Dreer  scored.  This  bunt  was  not 
fielded  at  all.  How  the  bleachers  roared!  Then 
followed  bunts  in  rapid  succession,  dashes  for 
first,  and  slides  into  the  bag.  The  pitcher  inter- 
fered with  the  third-baseman,  and  the  first-base- 

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THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

man  ran  up  the  line,  and  the  pitcher  failed  to 
cover  the  bag,  and  the  catcher  fell  all  over  the 
ball.  Every  varsity  man  bunted,  but  in  just  the 
place  where  it  was  not  expected.  They  raced 
around  the  bases.  They  made  long  runs  from 
first  to  third.  They  were  like  flashes  of  light, 
slippery  as  eels.  The  bewildered  infielders  knew 
they  were  being  played  with.  The  taunting  "boo- 
hoos"  and  screams  of  delight  from  the  bleachers 
were  as  demoralizing  as  the  illusively  daring  run- 
ners. Closer  and  closer  the  infielders  edged  in 
until  they  were  right  on  top  of  the  batters.  Then 
Dale  and  his  men  began  to  bunt  little  infield  flies 
over  the  heads  of  their  opponents.  The  merry 
audience  cheered  wildly.  But  Graves  and  Ray- 
mond ran  back  and  caught  three  of  these  little 
pop  flies,  thus  retiring  the  side.  The  old  varsity 
had  made  six  runs  on  nothing  but  deliberate  bunts 
and  daring  dashes  around  the  bases. 

Ken  hurried  in  to  the  bench  and  heard  some 
one  call  out,  "Ward  up!" 

He  had  forgotten  he  would  have  to  bat.  Step- 
ping to  the  plate  was  like  facing  a  cannon.  One 
of  the  players  yelled:  "Here  he  is,  Dale!  Here's 
the  potato-pegger !  Knock  his  block  off!'* 

The  cry  was  taken  up  by  other  players.  "Peg 
him,  Dale!  Peg  him,  Dale!"  And  then  the 
bleachers  got  it.  Ken's  dry  tongue  seemed  pasted 
to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  This  Dale  in  baseball 

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ANNIHILATION 

clothes  with  the  lowering  frown  was  not  like  the 
Dale  Ken  had  known.  Suddenly  he  swung  his 
arm.  Ken's  quick  eye  caught  the  dark,  shoot- 
ing gleam  of  the  ball.  Involuntarily  he  ducked. 
"Strike,"  called  the  umpire.  Then  Dale  had  not 
tried  to  hit  him.  Ken  stepped  up  again.  The 
pitcher  whirled  slowly  this  time,  turning  with  long, 
easy  motion,  and  threw  underhand.  The  ball 
sailed,  floated,  soared.  Long  before  it  reached 
Ken  it  had  fooled  him  completely.  He  chopped 
at  it  vainly.  The  next  ball  pitched  came  up  swift- 
er, but  just  before  it  crossed  the  plate  it  seemed 
to  stop,  as  if  pulled  back  by  a  string,  and  then 
dropped  down.  Ken  fell  to  his  knees  trying  to 
hit  it. 

The  next  batter's  attempts  were  not  as  awk- 
ward as  Ken's,  still  they  were  as  futile.  As  Ken 
sat  wearily  down  upon  rhe  bench  he  happened  to 
get  next  to  coach  Arthurs.  He  expected  some 
sharp  words  from  the  coach,  he  thought  he  de- 
served anything,  but  they  were  not  forthcoming. 
The  coach  put  his  hand  on  Ken's  knee.  When 
the  third  batter  fouled  to  Hickle,  and  Ken  got  up 
to  go  out  to  the  field,  he  summoned  courage  to 
look  at  Arthurs.  Something  in  his  face  told  Ken 
what  an  ordeal  this  was.  He  divined  that  it 
was  vastly  more  than  business  with  Worry  Ar- 
thurs. 

"Peg,  watch  out  this  time,"  whispered  the 
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THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

coach.     "They'll  line  'em  at  you  this  inning — like 
bullets.     Now  try  hard,  won't  you  ?     Just  try!" 

Ken  knew  from  Arthurs'  look  more  than  his 
words  that  trying  was  all  that  was  left  for  the 
youngsters.  The  varsity  had  come  out  early  in 
the  spring,  and  they  had  practised  to  get  into  con- 
dition to  annihilate  this  new  team  practically 
chosen  by  the  athletic  directors.  And  they  had 
set  out  to  make  the  game  a  farce.  But  Arthurs 
meant  that  all  the  victory  was  not  in  winning  the 
game.  It  was  left  for  his  boys  to  try  in  the  face 
of  certain  defeat,  to  try  with  all  their  hearts,  to 
try  with  unquenchable  spirit.  It  was  the  spirit 
that  counted,  not  the  result.  The  old  varsity  had 
received  a  bitter  blow;  they  were  aggressive  and 
relentless.  The  students  and  supporters  of  old 
Wayne,  idolizing  the  great  team,  always  bearing  in 
mind  the  hot  rivalry  with  Place  and  Herne,  were 
unforgiving  and  intolerant  of  an  undeveloped 
varsity.  Perhaps  neither  could  be  much  blamed. 
But  it  was  for  the  new  players  to  show  what  it 
meant  to  them.  The  greater  the  prospect  of  de- 
feat, the  greater  the  indifference  or  hostility  shown 
them,  the  more  splendid  their  opportunity.  For 
it  was  theirs  to  try  for  old  Wayne,  to  try,  to  fight, 
and  never  to  give  up. 

Ken  caught  fire  with  the  flame  of  that  spirit. 

"Boys,  come  on!"  he  cried,  in  his  piercing  tenor. 
"They  can't  beat  us  trying!" 

80 


As  he  ran  out  into  the  field  members  of  the 
varsity  spoke  to  him.  "You  green-backed  fresh- 
man! Shut  up!  You  scrub!" 

"  I'm  not  a  varsity  has  -  been !"  retorted  Ken, 
hurrying  out  to  his  position. 

The  first  man  up,  a  left-hander,  rapped  a  hard 
twisting  liner  to  right  field.  Ken  ran  toward  deep 
centre  with  all  his  might.  The  ball  kept  twisting 
and  curving.  It  struck  squarely  in  Ken's  hands 
and  bounced  out  and  rolled  far.  When  he  re- 
covered it  the  runner  was  on  third  base.  Before 
Ken  got  back  to  his  position  the  second  batter  hit 
hard  through  the  infield  toward  right.  The  ball 
came  skipping  like  a  fiendish  rabbit.  Ken  gritted 
his  teeth  and  went  down  on  his  knees,  to  get  the 
bounding  ball  full  in  his  breast.  But  he  stopped 
it,  scrambled  for  it,  and  made  the  throw  in.  Dale 
likewise  hit  in  his  direction,  a  slow  low  fly,  difficult 
to  judge.  Ken  overran  it,  and  the  hit  gave  Dale 
two  bases.  Ken  realized  that  the  varsity  was  now 
executing  Worry  Arthurs'  famous  right-field  hit- 
ting. The  sudden  knowledge  seemed  to  give  Ken 
the  blind-staggers.  The  field  was  in  a  haze;  the 
players  blurred  in  his  sight.  He  heard  the  crack 
of  the  ball  and  saw  Raymond  dash  over  and 
plunge  down.  Then  the  ball  seemed  to  streak  out 
of  the  grass  toward  him,  and,  as  he  bent  over,  it 
missed  his  hands  and  cracked  on  his  shin.  Again 
he  fumbled  wildly  for  it  and  made  the  throw  in. 

81 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

The  pain  roused  his  rage.     He  bit  his  lips  and 
called  to  himself:  "I'll  stop  them  if  it  kills  me!" 

Dreer  lined  the  ball  over  his  head  for  a  home- 
run.  Hollis  made  a  bid  for  a  three-bagger,  but 
Ken,  by  another  hard  sprint,  knocked  the  ball 
down.  Hickle  then  batted  up  a  tremendously 
high  fly.  It  went  far  beyond  Ken  and  he  ran  and 
ran.  It  looked  like  a  small  pin-point  of  black  up 
in  the  sky.  Then  he  tried  to  judge  it,  to  get  under 
it.  The  white  sky  suddenly  glazed  over  and  the 
ball  wavered  this  way  and  that.  .  Ken  lost  it  in 
the  sun,  found  it  again,  and  kept  on  running. 
Would  it  never  come  down  ?  He  had  not  reached 
it,  he  had  run  beyond  it.  In  an  agony  he  lunged 
out,  and  the  ball  fell  into  his  hands  and  jumped 
out. 

Then  followed  a  fusillade  of  hits,  all  between 
second  base  and  first,  and  all  vicious-bounding 
grounders.  To  and  fro  Ken  ran,  managing  some- 
how to  get  some  portion  of  his  anatomy  in  front  of 
the  ball.  It  had  become  a  demon  to  him  now  and 
he  hated  it.  His  tongue  was  hanging  out,  his 
breast  was  bursting,  his  hands  were  numb,  yet  he 
held  before  him  the  one  idea  to  keep  fiercely  trying. 

He  lost  count  of  the  runs  after  eleven  had  been 
scored.  He  saw  McCord  and  Raymond  trying  to 
stem  the  torrent  of  right-field  hits,  but  those  they 
knocked  down  gave  him  no  time  to  recover.  He 
blocked  the  grass-cutters  with  his  knees  or  his 

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ANNIHILATION 

body  and  pounced  upon  the  ball  and  got  it  away 
from  him  as  quickly  as  possible.  Would  this  rapid 
fire  of  uncertain-bounding  balls  never  stop  ?  Ken 
was  in  a  kind  of  frenzy.  If  he  only  had  time  to 
catch  his  breath! 

Then  Dreer  was  at  bat  again.  He  fouled  the 
first  two  balls  over  the  grand-stand.  Some  one 
threw  out  a  brand-new  ball.  Farther  and  farther 
Ken  edged  into  deep  right.  He  knew  what  was 
coming.  "Let  him — hit  it!'*  he  panted.  "I'll 
try  to  get  it!  This  day  settles  me.  I'm  no  out- 
fielder. But  I'll  try!" 

The  tired  pitcher  threw  the  ball  and  Dreer 
seemed  to  swing  and  bound  at  once  with  the  ring- 
ing crack.  The  hit  was  one  of  his  famous  drives 
close  to  the  right-field  foul-line. 

Ken  was  off  with  all  the  speed  left  in  him.  He 
strained  every  nerve  and  was  going  fast  when  he 
passed  the  foul-flag.  The  bleachers  loomed  up 
indistinct  in  his  sight.  But  he  thought  only  of 
meeting  the  ball.  The  hit  was  a  savage  liner, 
curving  away  from  him.  Cinders  under  his  flying 
feet  were  a  warning  that  he  did  not  heed.  He  was 
on  the  track.  He  leaped  into  the  air,  left  hand 
outstretched,  and  felt  the  ball  strike  in  his  glove. 

Then  all  was  dark  in  a  stunning,  blinding 
crash — 


VIII 

EXAMINATIONS 

WHEN  Ken  Ward  came  fully  to  his  senses  he 
was  being  half  carried  and  half  led  across  the 
diamond  to  the  players'  bench.  He  heard  Worry 
Arthurs  say:  "He  ain't  hurt  much — only  butted 
into  the  fence." 

Ken  tried  manfully  to  entertain  Worry's  idea 
about  it,  but  he  was  too  dazed  and  weak  to  stand 
alone.  He  imagined  he  had  broken  every  bone 
in  his  body. 

"Did  I  make  the  catch — hang  to  the  ball  ?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  Peg,  you  didn't,"  replied  the  coach, 
kindly.  "  But  you  made  a  grand  try  for  it." 

He  felt  worse  over  failing  to  hold  the  ball  than 
he  felt  over  half  killing  himself  against  the  bleach- 
ers. He  spent  the  remainder  of  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  game  sitting  on  the  bench.  But  to 
watch  his  fellow-players  try  to  play  was  almost  as 
frightful  as  being  back  there  in  right  field.  It  was 
no  consolation  for  Ken  to  see  his  successor  chas- 
ing long  hits,  misjudging  flies,  failing  weakly  on 

84 


EXAMINATIONS 

wicked  grounders.  Even  Graves  weakened  tow» 
ard  the  close  and  spoiled  his  good  beginning  by 
miserable  fumbles  and  throws.  It  was  complete 
and  disgraceful  rout.  The  varsity  never  let  up 
until  the  last  man  was  out.  The  team  could  not 
have  played  harder  against  Place  or  Herne. 
Arthurs  called  the  game  at  the  end  of  the  sixth 
inning  with  the  score  41  to  o. 

Many  beaten  and  despondent  players  had 
dragged  themselves  off  Grant  Field  in  bygone 
years.  But  none  had  ever  been  so  humiliated,  so 
crushed.  No  player  spoke  a  word  or  looked  at 
another.  They  walked  off  with  bowed  heads. 
Ken  lagged  behind  the  others;  he  was  still  stunned 
and  lame.  Presently  Arthurs  came  back  to  help 
him  along,  and  did  not  speak  until  they  were 
clear  of  the  campus  and  going  down  Ken's  street. 

"  I'm  glad  that's  over,"  said  Worry.  "  I  kicked 
against  havin'  the  game,  but  'em  fat-head  directors 
would  have  it.  Now  we'll  be  let  alone.  There 
won't  be  no  students  comin'  out  to  the  field,  and 
I'm  blamed  glad." 

Ken  was  sick  and  smarting  with  pain,  and  half 
crying. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Arthurs,"  he  faltered,  "we 
were — so — so — rotten !" 

"See  here,  Peg,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "that  cuts 
no  ice  with  me.  It  was  sure  the  rottenest  exhibi- 
tion I  ever  seen  in  my  life.  But  there's  excuses, 

85 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

and  you  can  just  gamble  I'm  the  old  boy  who 
knows.  You  kids  were  scared  to  death.  What 
hurts  me,  Peg,  is  the  throw-down  we  got  from  my 
old  team  and  from  the  students.  We're  not  to 
blame  for  rules  made  by  fat-head  directors.  I 
was  surprised  at  Dale.  He  was  mean,  and  so  were 
Hollis  and  Hickle — all  of  'em.  They  didn't  need 
to  disgrace  us  like  that." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Arthurs,  what  players  they  are!" 
exclaimed  Ken.  "  I  never  saw  such  running,  such 
hitting.  You  said  they'd  hit  to  right  field  like 
bullets,  but  it  was  worse  than  bullets.  And 
Dreer!  .  .  .  When  he  came  up  my  heart  just 
stopped  beating." 

"Peg,  listen,"  said  Worry.  "Three  years  ago 
when  Dreer  came  out  on  the  field  he  was  greener 
than  you,  and  hadn't  half  the  spunk.  1  made  him 
what  he  is,  and  I  made  all  of  'em — I  made  that 
team,  and  I  can  make  another." 

"You  are  just  saying  that  to — to  encourage  me," 
replied  Ken,  hopelessly.  "I  can't  play  ball.  I 
thought  I  could,  but  I  know  now.  I'll  never  go 
out  on  the  field  again." 

"Peg,  are  you  goin'  to  throw  me  down,  too?" 

"Mr.  Arthurs!    I— I—" 

"Listen,  Peg.  Cut  out  the  dumps.  Get  over 
'em.  You  made  the  varsity  to-day.  Under- 
stand ?  You  earned  your  big  W.  You  needn't 
mention  it,  but  I've  picked  you  to  play  somewhere. 

86 


EXAMINATIONS 

You  weren't  a  natural  infielder,  and  you  didn't 
make  much  of  a  showin'  in  the  outfield.  But  it's 
the  spirit  I  want.  To-day  was  a  bad  day  tor  a 
youngster.  There's  always  lots  of  feelin'  about 
college  athletics,  but  here  at  Wayne  this  year  the 
strain's  awful.  And  you  fought  yourself  and  stage- 
fright  and  the  ridicule  of  'em  quitter  students. 
You  tried,  Peg!  I  never  saw  a  gamer  try.  You 
didn't  fail  me.  And  after  you  made  that  desper- 
ate run  and  tried  to  smash  the  bleachers  with  your 
face  the  students  shut  up  their  guyin*.  It  made  a 
difference,  Peg.  Even  the  varsity  was  a  little 
ashamed.  Cheer  up,  now!" 

Ken  was  almost  speechless;  he  managed  to 
mumble  something,  at  which  the  coach  smiled  in 
reply  and  then  walked  rapidly  away.  Ken  limped 
to  his  room  and  took  off  his  baseball  suit.  The 
skin  had  been  peeled  from  his  elbow,  and  his  body 
showed  several  dark  spots  that  Ken  knew  would 
soon  be  black- and -blue  bruises.  His  legs  from 
his  knees  down  bore  huge  lumps  so  sore  to  the 
touch  that  Ken  winced  even  at  gentle  rubbing. 
But  he  did  not  mind  the  pain.  All  the  darkness 
seemed  to  have  blown  away  from  his  mind. 

"What  a  fine  fellow  Worry  is!"  said  Ken. 
"How  I'll  work  for  him!  I  must  write  to  brother 
Hal  and  Dick  Leslie,  to  tell  them  I've  made  the 
varsity.  .  .  .  No,  not  yet;  Worry  said  not  to  men- 
don  it. ...  And  now  to  plug.  I'll  have  to  take  my 

87 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

exams  before  the  first  college  game,  April  8th,  and 
that's  not  long." 

In  the  succeeding  days  Ken  was  very  busy  with 
attendance  at  college  in  the  mornings,  baseball 
practice  in  the  afternoons,  and  study  at  night. 

If  Worry  had  picked  any  more  players  for  the 
varsity,  Ken  could  not  tell  who  they  were.  Of 
course  Graves  would  make  the  team,  and  Weir 
and  Raymond  were  pretty  sure  of  places.  There 
were  sixteen  players  for  the  other  five  positions, 
and  picking  them  was  only  guesswork.  It  seemed 
to  Ken  that  some  of  the  players  showed  streaks 
of  fast  playing  at  times,  and  then  as  soon  as  they 
were  opposed  to  one  another  in  the  practice  game 
they  became  erratic.  His  own  progress  was  slow. 
One  thing  he  could  do  that  brought  warm  praise 
from  the  coach — he  could  line  the  ball  home  from 
deep  outfield  with  wonderful  speed  and  accuracy. 

After  the  varsity  had  annihilated  Worry's 
"kids,"  as  they  had  come  to  be  known,  the  stu- 
dents showed  no  further  interest.  When  they 
ceased  to  appear  on  the  field  the  new  players 
were  able  to  go  at  their  practice  without  being 
ridiculed.  Already  an  improvement  had  been 
noticeable.  But  rivalry  was  so  keen  for  places, 
and  the  coach's  choice  so  deep  a  mystery,  that 
the  contestants  played  under  too  great  a  tension, 
and  school-boys  could  have  done  better. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  April  that  Arthurs  took 
88 


EXAMINATIONS 

Ken  up  into  College  Hall  to  get  permission  for 
him  to  present  himself  to  the  different  professors 
for  the  early  examinations.  While  Ken  sat  wait- 
ing in  the  office  he  heard  Arthurs  talking  to  men 
he  instantly  took  to  be  the  heads  of  the  Athletic 
Association.  They  were  in  an  adjoining  room 
with  the  door  open,  and  their  voices  were  very 
distinct,  so  that  Ken  could  not  help  hearing. 

"Gentlemen,  I  want  my  answer  to-day,"  said 
the  coach. 

"Is  there  so  great  a  hurry?  Wait  a  little," 
was  the  rejoinder. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  this  is  April  1st,  and  I'll  wait  no 
longer.  I'm  ready  to  send  some  of  my  boys  up 
for  early  exams,  and  I  want  to  know  where  I 
stand." 

"Arthurs,  what  is  it  exactly  that  you  want? 
Things  have  been  in  an  awful  mess,  we  know. 
State  your  case  and  we'll  try  to  give  you  a  definite 
answer." 

"I  want  full  charge  of  the  coachin'  —  the 
handlin'  of  the  team,  as  I  always  had  before.  I 
don't  want  any  grad  coaches.  The  directors  seem 
divided,  one  half  want  this,  the  other  half  that. 
They've  cut  out  the  trainin'  quarters.  I've  had 
no  help  from  Murray;  no  baths  or  rub -downs 
or  trainin'  for  my  candidates.  Here's  openin'  day 
a  week  off  and  I  haven't  picked  my  team.  I  want 
to  take  them  to  the  trainin'-table  and  have  them 

80 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

under  my  eye  all  the  time.  If  I  can't  have  what 
I  want  I'll  resign.  If  I  can  I'll  take  the  whole 
responsibility  of  the  team  on  my  own  shoul- 
ders." 

"Very  well,  Arthurs,  we'll  let  you  go  ahead  and 
have  full  charge.  There  has  been  talk  this  year 
of  abolishing  a  private  training-house  and  table 
for  this  green  varsity.  But  rather  than  have  you 
resign  we'll  waive  that.  You  can  rest  assured 
from  now  on  you  will  not  be  interfered  with.  Give 
us  the  best  team  you  can  under  the  circumstances. 
There  has  been  much  dissension  among  the  di- 
rectors and  faculty  because  of  our  new  eligibility 
rules.  It  has  stirred  everybody  up,  and  the  stu- 
dents are  sore.  Then  there  has  been  talk  of  not 
having  a  professional  coach  this  year,  but  we 
overruled  that  in  last  night's  meeting.  We're 
going  to  see  what  you  can  do.  I  may  add,  Arthurs, 
if  you  shape  up  a  varsity  this  year  that  makes  any 
kind  of  a  showing  against  Place  and  Herne  you 
will  win  the  eternal  gratitude  of  the  directors  who 
have  fostered  this  change  in  athletics.  Other- 
wise I'm  afraid  the  balance  of  opinion  will  favor 
the  idea  of  dispensing  with  professional  coaches 
in  tV\e  future." 

Ken  saw  that  Arthurs  was  white  in  the  face 
when  he  left  the  room.  They  went  out  together, 
and  Worry  handed  Ken  a  card  that  read  for  him 
to  take  his  examinations  at  once. 

90 


EXAMINATIONS 

"Are  you  up  on  'em  ?"  asked  the  coach,  anx- 
iously. 

"I — I  think  so,"  replied  Ken. 

"Well,  Peg,  good  luck  to  you!  Go  at  'em  like 
you  went  at  Dreer's  hit." 

Much  to  his  amazement  it  was  for  Ken  to  dis- 
cover that,  now  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  face 
his  examinations,  he  was  not  at  all  sanguine.  He 
began  to  worry.  He  forgot  about  the  text-books 
he  had  mastered  in  his  room  during  the  long 
winter  when  he  feared  to  venture  out  because  of 
the  sophomores.  It  was  not  very  long  till  he  had 
worked  himself  into  a  state  somewhat  akin  to  his 
trepidation  in  the  varsity  ball  game.  Then  he 
decided  to  go  up  at  once  and  have  it  done  with. 
His  whole  freshman  year  had  been  one  long  agony. 
What  a  relief  to  have  it  ended ! 

Ken  passed  four  examinations  in  one  morning, 
passed  them  swimmingly,  smilingly,  splendidly, 
and  left  College  Hall  in  an  ecstasy.  Things  were 
working  out  fine.  But  he  had  another  examina- 
tion, and  it  was  in  a  subject  he  had  voluntarily 
included  in  his  course.  Whatever  on  earth  he  had 
done  it  for  he  could  not  now  tell.  The  old  doctor 
who  held  the  chair  in  that  department  had  thirty 
years  before  earned  the  name  of  Crab.  And  slow- 
ly in  the  succeeding  years  he  had  grown  crabbier, 
crustier,  so  student  rumor  had  it.  Ken  had 
rather  liked  the  dry  old  fellow,  and  had  been 
7  91 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

much  absorbed  in  his  complex  lectures,  but  he 
had  never  been  near  him,  and  now  the  prospect 
changed  color.  Foolishly  Ken  asked  a  sopho- 
more in  what  light  old  Crab  might  regard  a  stu- 
dent who  was  ambitious  to  pass  his  exams  early. 
The  picture  painted  by  that  sophomore  would 
have  made  a  flaming-mouthed  dragon  appear 
tame.  Nerving  himself  to  the  ordeal,  Ken  took 
his  card  and  presented  himself  one  evening  at  the 
doctor's  house. 

A  maid  ushered  him  into  the  presence  of  a  ven- 
erable old  man  who  did  not  look  at  all,  even  in 
Ken's  distorted  sight,  like  a  crab  or  a  dragon. 
His  ponderous  brow  seemed  as  if  it  had  all  the 
thought  in  the  world  behind  it.  He  looked  over 
huge  spectacles  at  Ken's  card  and  then  spoke  in 
a  dry,  quavering  voice. 

"Um-m.     Sit  down,  Mr.  Ward." 

Ken  found  his  breath  and  strangely  lost  his  fear 
and  trembling.  The  doctor  dryly  asked  him  why 
he  thought  he  knew  more  than  the  other  students, 
who  were  satisfied  to  wait  months  longer  before 
examination.  Ken  hastened  to  explain  that  it 
was  no  desire  of  his;  that,  although  he  had  studied 
hard  and  had  not  missed  many  lectures,  he  knew 
he  was  unprepared.  Then  he  went  on  to  tell 
about  the  baseball  situation  and  why  he  had  been 
sent  up. 

"Um-m."  The  professor  held  a  glass  paper- 
92 


EXAMINATIONS 

weight  up  before  Ken  and  asked  a  question  about 
it.  Next  he  held  out  a  ruler  and  asked  something 
about  that,  and  also  a  bottle  of  ink.  Following 
this  he  put  a  few  queries  about  specific  gravity, 
atomic  weight,  and  the  like.  Then  he  sat  thrum- 
ming his  desk  and  appeared  far  away  in  thought. 
After  a  while  he  turned  to  Ken  with  a  smile  that 
made  his  withered,  parchment-like  face  vastly 
different. 

"Where  do  you  play?"  he  asked. 

"S-sir?"  stammered  Ken. 

"In  baseball,  I  mean.  What  place  do  you 
play  ?  Catch  ?  Thrower  ?  I  don't  know  the 
names  much." 

Ken  replied  eagerly,  and  then  it  seemed  he  was 
telling  this  stern  old  man  all  about  baseball.  He 
wanted  to  know  what  fouls  were,  and  how  to  steal 
bases,  and  he  was  nonplussed  by  such  terms  as 
"hit-and-run."  Ken  discoursed  eloquently  on 
his  favorite  sport,  and  it  was  like  a  kind  of  dream 
to  be  there.  Strange  things  were  always  happen- 
ing to  him. 

"I've  never  seen  a  game,"  said  the  professor. 
"I  used  to  play  myself  long  ago,  when  we  had  a 
yarn  ball  and  pitched  underhand.  I'll  have  to 
come  out  to  the  field  some  day.  President  Hal- 
stead,  why,  he  likes  baseball,  he's  a — a — what  do 
you  call  it?" 

"A  fan — a  rooter?"  replied  Ken,  smiling. 
93 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"Um-m.  I  guess  that's  it.  Well,  Mf.  Ward, 
I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  You  may  go  now." 

Ken  got  up  blushing  like  a  girl.  "  But,  Doctor, 
you  were  to — I  was  to  be  examined." 

"I've  examined  you,"  he  drawled,  with  a  dry 
chuckle,  and  he  looked  over  his  huge  spectacles 
at  Ken.  "I'll  give  you  a  passing  mark.  But, 
Mr.  Ward,  you  know  a  heap  more  about  baseball 
than  you  know  about  physics." 

As  Ken  went  out  he  trod  upon  air.  What  a 
splendid  old  fellow!  The  sophomore  had  lied. 
For  that  matter,  when  had  a  sophomore  ever  been 
known  to  tell  the  truth  ?  But,  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, he  himself  was  no  longer  a  freshman. 
He  pondered  happily  on  the  rosy  lining  to  his  old 
cloud  of  gloom.  How  different  things  appeared 
after  a  little  time.  That  old  doctor's  smile  would 
linger  long  in  Ken's  memory.  He  felt  deep  re-> 
morse  that  he  had  ever  misjudged  him.  He  hur- 
ried on  to  Worry  Arthurs'  house  to  tell  him  the 
good  news.  And  as  he  walked  his  mind  was  full 
with  the  wonder  of  it  all — his  lonely,  wretched 
freshman  days,  now  forever  past;  the  slow  change 
from  hatred;  the  dawning  of  some  strange  feeling 
for  the  college  and  his  teachers;  and,  last,  the 
freedom,  the  delight,  the  quickening  stir  in  the 
present. 


tt 

PRESIDENT  HALSTEAD  ON   COLLEGE   SPIRIT 

WAYNE'S  opening  game  was  not  at  all  what 
Ken  had  dreamed  it  would  be.  The  oppos- 
ing team  from  Hudson  School  was  as  ill-assorted 
an  aggregation  as  Ken  had  ever  seen.  They 
brought  with  them  a  small  but  noisy  company  of 
cheering  supporters  who,  to  the  shame  of  Ken 
and  his  fellows,  had  the  bleachers  all  to  them- 
selves. If  any  Wayne  students  were  present 
they  either  cheered  for  Hudson  or  remained 
silent. 

Hudson  won,  9  to  2.  It  was  a  game  that 
made  Arthurs  sag  a  little  lower  on  the  bench. 
Graves  got  Wayne's  two  tallies.  Raymond  at 
second  played  about  all  the  game  from  the  fielding 
standpoint.  Ken  distinguished  himself  by  trying 
wildly  and  accomplishing  nothing.  When  he 
went  to  his  room  that  night  he  had  switched  back 
to  his  former  spirits,  and  was  disgusted  with 
Wayne's  ball  team,  himself  most  of  all. 

That  was  on  a  Wednesday.  The  next  day  rain 
prevented  practice,  and  on  Friday  the  boys  were 

95 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

out  on  the  field  again.  Arthurs  shifted  the  players 
around,  trying  resignedly  to  discover  certain  posi- 
tions that  might  fit  certain  players.  It  seemed 
to  Ken  that  all  the  candidates,  except  one  or  two, 
were  good  at  fielding  and  throwing,  but  when  they 
came  to  play  a  game  they  immediately  went  into 
a  trance. 

Travers  College  was  scheduled  for  Saturday. 
They  had  always  turned  out  a  good  minor  team, 
but  had  never  been  known  to  beat  Wayne.  They 
shut  Arthurs'  team  out  without  a  run.  A  handful 
of  Wayne  students  sat  in  the  bleachers  mocking 
their  own  team.  Arthurs  used  the  two  pitchers 
he  had  been  trying  hard  to  develop,  and  when  they 
did  locate  the  plate  they  were  hit  hard.  Ken 
played  or  essayed  to  play  right  field  for  a  while, 
but  he  ran  around  like  a  chicken  with  its  head  off, 
as  a  Travers  player  expressed  it,  and  then  Arthurs 
told  him  that  he  had  better  grace  the  bench  the 
rest  of  the  game.  Ashamed  as  Ken  was  to  be  put 
out,  he  was  yet  more  ashamed  to  feel  that  he  was 
glad  of  it.  Hardest  of  all  to  bear  was  the  arrogant 
air  put  on  by  the  Travers  College  players.  Wayne 
had  indeed  been  relegated  to  the  fifth  rank  of  col- 
lege baseball  teams. 

On  Monday  announcements  were  made  in  all 
the  lecture-rooms  and  departments  of  the  uni- 
versity, and  bulletins  were  posted  to  the  effect,  that 
President  Halstead  wished  to  address  the  under* 

06 


HALSTEAD    ON    COLLEGE    SPIRIT 

graduates  in  the  Wayne  auditorium  on  Tuesday 
at  five  o'clock. 

Rumor  flew  about  the  campus  and  Carlton  Club, 
everywhere,  that  the  president's  subject  would  be 
"College  Spirit,"  and  it  was  believed  he  would 
have  something  to  say  about  the  present  condition 
of  athletics.  Ken  Ward  hurried  to  the  hall  as 
soon  as  he  got  through  his  practice.  He  found 
the  immense  auditorium  packed  from  pit  to  dome, 
and  he  squeezed  into  a  seat  on  the  steps. 

The  students,  as  always,  were  exchanging  vol- 
leys of  paper-balls,  matching  wits,  singing  songs, 
and  passing  time  merrily.  When  President  Hal- 
stead  entered,  with  two  of  his  associates,  he  was 
greeted  by  a  thunder  of  tongues,  hands,  and  heels  of 
the  standing  students.  He  was  the  best-beloved 
member  of  the  university  faculty,  a  distinguished, 
scholarly  looking  man,  well-stricken  in  years. 

He  opened  his  address  by  declaring  the  need  of 
college  spirit  in  college  life.  He  defined  it  as  the 
vital  thing,  the  heart  of  a  great  educational  in- 
stitution, and  he  went  on  to  speak  of  its  dangers, 
its  fluctuations.  Then  he  made  direct  reference 
to  athletics  in  its  relation  to  both  college  spirit 
and  college  life. 

"Sport  is  too  much  with  us.  Of  late  years  I 
have  observed  a  great  increase  in  the  number  of 
athletic  students,  and  a  great  decrease  in  scholar- 
ship. The  fame  of  the  half-back  and  the  short- 

97 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

stop  and  the  stroke-oar  has  grown  out  of  propor- 
tion to  their  real  worth.  The  freshman  is  dazzled 
by  it.  The  great  majority  of  college  men  cannot 
shine  in  sport,  which  is  the  best  thing  that  could 
be.  The  student's  ideal,  instead  of  being  the  high- 
est scholarship,  the  best  attainment  for  his  career, 
is  apt  to  be  influenced  by  the  honors  and  friend- 
ships that  are  heaped  upon  the  great  athlete. 
This  is  false  to  university  life.  You  are  here  to 
prepare  yourselves  for  the  battle  with  the  world, 
and  I  want  to  state  that  that  battle  is  becoming 
more  and  more  intellectual.  The  student  who 
slights  his  studies  for  athletic  glory  may  find  him- 
self, when  that  glory  is  long  past,  distanced  in  the 
race  for  success  by  a  student  who  had  not  trained 
to  run  the  hundred  in  ten  seconds. 

"But,  gentlemen,  to  keep  well  up  in  your  studies 
and  then  go  in  for  athletics — that  is  entirely  an- 
other question.  It  is  not  likely  that  any  student 
who  keeps  to  the  front  in  any  of  the  university 
courses  will  have  too  much  time  for  football  or 
baseball.  I  am,  as  you  all  know,  heartily  in  favor 
of  all  branches  of  college  sport.  And  that  brings 
me  to  the  point  I  want  to  make  to-day.  Baseball 
is  my  favorite  game,  and  I  have  always  been  proud 
of  Wayne's  teams.  The  new  eligibility  rules,  with 
which  you  are  all  familiar,  were  brought  to  me, 
and  after  thoroughly  going  over  the  situation  I 
approved  of  them.  Certainly  it  is  obvious  to  you 


HALSTEAD    ON    COLLEGE    SPIRIT 

all  that  a  university  ball-player  making  himself 
famous  here,  and  then  playing  during  the  summer 
months  at  a  resort,  is  laying  himself  open  to  sus- 
picion. I  have  no  doubt  that  many  players  are 
innocent  of  the  taint  of  professionalism,  but  un- 
fortunately they  have  become  members  of  these 
summer  teams  after  being  first  requested,  then 
warned,  not  to  do  so. 

"Wayne's  varsity  players  of  last  year  have  been 
barred  by  the  directors.  They  made  their  choice, 
and  so  should  abide  by  it.  They  have  had  their 
day,  and  so  should  welcome  the  opportunity  of 
younger  players.  But  I  am  constrained  to  ac- 
knowledge that  neither  they  nor  the  great  body  of 
undergraduates  welcomed  the  change.  This,  more 
than  anything,  proves  to  me  the  evil  of  champion- 
ship teams.  The  football  men,  the  baseball  men, 
the  crew  men,  and  all  the  student  supporters  want 
to  win  all  the  games  all  the  time.  I  would  like  to 
ask  you  young  gentlemen  if  you  can  take  a  beat- 
ing ?  If  you  cannot,  I  would  like  to  add  that  you 
are  not  yet  fitted  to  go  out  into  life.  A  good  beat- 
ing, occasionally,  is  a  wholesome  thing. 

"Well,  to  come  to  the  point  now:  I  find,  after 
studying  the  situation,  that  the  old  varsity  players 
and  undergraduates  of  this  university  have  been 
lacking  in — let  us  be  generous  and  say,  college 
spirit.  I  do  not  need  to  go  into  detail;  suffice  it  to 
say  that  I  know.  I  will  admit,  however,  that  I 

99 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

attended  the  game  between  the  old  varsity  and 
the  new  candidates.  I  sat  unobserved  in  a  corner, 
and  a  more  unhappy  time  I  never  spent  in  this 
university.  I  confess  that  my  sympathies  were 
with  the  inexperienced,  undeveloped  boys  who  were 
trying  to  learn  to  play  ball.  Put  yourselves  in  their 
places.  Say  you  are  mostly  freshmen,  and  you 
make  yourselves  candidates  for  the  team  because 
you  love  the  game,  and  because  you  would  love 
to  bring  honor  to  your  college.  You  go  out  and 
try.  You  meet,  the  first  day,  an  implacable  team 
of  skilled  veterans  who  show  their  scorn  of  your 
poor  ability,  their  hatred  of  your  opportunity,  and 
ride  roughshod — I  should  say,  run  with  spiked 
shoes— over  you.  You  hear  the  roar  of  four 
thousand  students  applauding  these  hero  veterans. 
You  hear  your  classmates,  your  fellow-students  in 
Wayne,  howl  with  ridicule  at  your  weak  attempts 
to  compete  with  better,  stronger  players.  .  .  .  Gen- 
tlemen, how  would  you  feel  ? 

"I  said  before  that  college  spirit  fluctuates.  If 
I  did  not  know  students  well  I  would  be  deeply 
grieved  at  the  spirit  shown  that  day.  I  know  that 
the  tide  will  turn.  .  .  .  And,  gentlemen,  would  not 
you  and  the  old  varsity  be  rather  in  an  embarrass- 
ing position  if — if  these  raw  recruits  should  hap- 
pen to  develop  into  a  team  strong  enough  to  cope 
with  Place  and  Herne  ?  Stranger  things  have  hap- 
pened. I  am  rather  strong  for  the  new  players, 

too 


HALSTEAD    ON    COLLEGE    SPIRIT 

not  because  of  their  playing,  which  is  poor  indeed, 
but  for  the  way  they  tried  under  peculiarly  adverse 
conditions. 

"That  young  fellow  Ward  —  what  torture  that 
inning  of  successive  hard  hits  to  his  territory!  I 
was  near  him  in  that  end  of  the  bleachers,  and  I 
watched  him  closely.  Every  attempt  he  made 
was  a  failure — that  is,  failure  from  the  point  of 
view  of  properly  fielding  the  ball.  But,  gentle- 
men, that  day  was  not  a  failure  for  young,  Ward. 
It  was  a  grand  success.  Some  one  said  his  play- 
ing was  the  poorest  exhibition  ever  seen  on  Grant 
Field  That  may  be.  I  want  to  say  that  to  my 
mind  it  was  also  the  most  splendid  effort  ever 
made  on  Grant  Field.  For  it  was  made  against 
defeat,  fear,  ridicule.  It  was  elimination  of  self. 
It  was  made  for  his  coach,  his  fellow-players,  his 
college — that  is  to  say,  for  the  students  who 
shamed  themselves  by  scorn  for  his  trial. 

"Young  men  of  Wayne,  give  us  a  little  more  oi 
such  college  spirit  f" 


X 

NEW   PLAYERS 

WHEN  practice  time  rolled  around  for  Ken 
next  day,  he  went  upon  the  field  once  more 
with  hL  hopes  renewed  and  bright. 

"I  certainly  do  die  hard,'*  he  laughed  to  him- 
self. "But  I  can  never  go  down  and  out  now—- 
never!" 

Something  seemed  to  ring  in  Ken's  ears  like 
peals  of  bells.  In  spite  of  his  awkwardness  Coach 
Arthurs  had  made  him  a  varsity  man;  in  spite  of 
his  unpreparedness  old  Crab  had  given  him  a 
passing  mark;  in  spite  of  his  unworthiness  Presi- 
dent Halstead  had  made  him  famous. 

"I  surely  am  the  lucky  one,"  said  Ken,  for  the 
hundredth  time.  "And  now  I'm  going  to  force 
my  luck."  Ken  had  lately  revolved  in  his  mind 
a  persistent  idea  that  he  meant  to  propound  to 
the  coach. 

Ken  arrived  on  the  field  a  little  later  than  usual, 
to  find  Arthurs  for  once  minus  his  worried  look. 
He  was  actually  smiling,  and  Ken  soon  saw  the 
reason  for  this  remarkable  change  was  the  pres- 
ence of  a  new  player  out  in  centre  field. 

102 


NEW    PLAYERS 

"Hello,  Peg!  things  are  loo  kin*  up,"  said  the 
coach,  beaming.  "That's  Homans  out  there  in 
centre — Roy  Homans,  a  senior  and  a  cracker  jack 
ball-player.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  come  out  for 
the  team  last  year,  but  he  wouldn't  spare  the  time. 
But  he's  goin'  to  play  this  season — said  the  presi- 
dent's little  talk  got  him.  He's  a  fast,  heady, 
scientific  player,  just  the  one  to  steady  you  kids." 

Before  Ken  could  reply  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted from  Homans  to  another  new  player  in 
uniform  now  walking  up  to  Arthurs.  He  was 
tall,  graceful,  powerful,  had  red  hair,  keen  dark 
eyes,  a  clean-cut  profile  and  square  jaw. 

"I've  come  out  to  try  for  the  team,"  he  said, 
quietly,  to  the  coach. 

"You're  a  little  late,  ain't  you?"  asked  Worry, 
gruffly;  but  he  ran  a  shrewd  glance  over  the  lithe 
form. 

"Yes." 

"Must  have  been  stirred  up  by  that  talk  of 
President  Halstead's,  wasn't  you  ?" 

"Yes."  There  was  something  quiet  and  easy 
about  the  stranger,  and  Ken  liked  him  at  once. 

"  Where  do  you  play  ?"  went  on  Worry. 

"Left." 

"Can  you  hit?  Talk  sense  now,  and  mebbe 
you'll  save  me  work.  Can  you  hit?" 

"Yes." 

"Can  you  throw?" 

103 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"Yes."     He  spoke  with  quiet  assurance. 

"Can  you  run?"  almost  shouted  Worry.  He 
was  nervous  and  irritable  those  days,  and  it  an- 
noyed him  for  unknown  youths  to  speak  calmly 
of  such  things. 

"Run?  Yes,  a  little.  I  did  the  hundred  last 
year  in  nine  and  four-fifths." 

"What!  You  can't  kid  me!  Who  are  you?" 
cried  Worry,  getting  red  in  the  face.  "I've  seen 
you  somewhere." 

"My  name's  Ray." 

"Say!   Not  Ray,  the  intercollegiate  champion  ?" 

"  I'm  the  fellow.  I  talked  it  over  with  Murray. 
He  kicked,  but  I  didn't  mind  that.  I  promised 
to  try  to  keep  in  shape  to  win  the  sprints  at  the 
intercollegiate  meet." 

"Say!  Get  out  there  in  left  field!  Quick!" 
shouted  Worry. ..."  Peg,  hit  him  some  flies.  Lam 
'em  a  mile!  That  fellow's  a  sprinter,  Peg.  What 
luck  it  would  be  if  he  can  play  ball!  Hit  'em  at 
him!" 

Ken  took  the  ball  Worry  tossed  him,  and,  pick- 
ing up  a  bat,  began  to  knock  flies  out  to  Ray. 
The  first  few  he  made  easy  for  the  outfielder, 
and  then  he  hit  balls  harder  and  off  to  the  right 
or  left.  Without  appearing  to  exert  himself  Ray 
got  under  them.  Ken  watched  him,  and  also 
kept  the  tail  of  his  eye  on  Worry.  The  coach  ap- 
peared to  be  getting  excited,  and  he  ordered  Ken 

104 


NEW    PLAYERS 

to  hit  the  balls  high  and  far  away.  Ken  complied, 
but  he  could  not  hit  a  ball  over  Ray's  head.  He 
tried  with  all  his  strength.  He  had  never  seen  a 
champion  sprinter,  and  now  he  marvelled  at  the 
wonderful  stride. 

"Oh!  but  his  running  is  beautiful!"  exclaimed 
Ken. 

"That's  enough!  Come  in  here!"  yelled  Worry 
to  Ray.  .  .  .  "Peg,  he  makes  Dreer  look  slow.  I 
never  saw  as  fast  fieldin'  as  that." 

When  Ray  came  trotting  in  without  seeming  to 
be  even  warmed  up,  Worry  blurted  out:  "You 
ain't  winded — after  all  that  ?  Must  be  in  shape  ?" 

"I'm  always  in  shape,"  replied  Ray. 

"Pick  up  a  bat!"  shouted  Worry.  "Here,  Dun- 
can, pitch  this  fellow  a  few.  Speed  'em,  curve 
'em,  strike  him  out,  hit  him — anything!" 

Ray  was  left-handed,  and  he  stood  up  to  the 
plate  perfectly  erect,  with  his  bat  resting  quietly  on 
his  shoulder.  He  stepped  straight,  swung  with 
an  even,  powerful  swing,  and  he  hit  the  first  ball 
clear  over  the  right-field  bleachers.  It  greatly 
distanced  Dreer's  hit. 

"What  a  drive!"  gasped  Ken. 

"Oh!"  choked  Worry.  "That's  enough!  You 
needn't  lose  my  balls.  Bunt  one,  now." 

Ray  took  the  same  position,  and  as  the  ball 
came  up  he  appeared  to  drop  the  bat  upon  it  and 
dart  away  at  the  same  instant. 

105 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Worry  seemed  to  be  trying  to  control  violent 
emotion.  "Next  batter  up!"  he  called,  hoarsely, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench.  He  was  breathing 
hard,  and  beads  of  sweat  stood  out  on  his  brow. 

Ken  went  up  to  Worry,  feeling  that  now  was  th« 
time  to  acquaint  the  coach  with  his  new  idea. 
Eager  as  Ken  was  he  had  to  force  himself  to  take 
this  step.  All  the  hope  and  dread,  nervousness 
and  determination  of  the  weeks  of  practice  seemed 
to  accumulate  in  that  moment.  He  stammered 
and  stuttered,  grew  speechless,  and  then  as  Worry 
looked  up  in  kind  surprise,  Ken  suddenly  grew 
cool  and  earnest. 

"  Mr.  Arthurs,  will  you  try  me  in  the  box  ?" 

"What's  that,  Peg  ?"  queried  the  coach,  sharply. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  trial  in  the  box?  I've 
wanted  one  all  along.  You  put  me  in  once  when 
we  were  in  the  cage,  but  you  made  me  hit  the 
batters." 

"Pitch?  you,  Peg?  Why  not?  Why  didn't  I 
think  of  it  ?  I'm  sure  gettin'  to  be  like  'em  fat- 
head directors.  You've  -got  steam,  Peg,  but  can 
you  curve  a  ball  ?  Let's  see  your  fingers." 

"Yes,  I  can  curve  a  ball  round  a  corner.  Please 
give  me  a  trial,  Mr.  Arthurs.  I  failed  in  the  in- 
field, and  I'm  little  good  in  the  outfield.  But  I 
know  I  can  pitch." 

The  coach  gave  Ken  one  searching  glance 
Then  he  called  all  the  candidates  in  to  the  plate, 

106 


NEW    PLAYERS 

and  ordered  Dean,  the  stocky  little  catcher,  to  don 
his  breast-protector,  mask,  and  mitt. 

"Peg,"  said  the  coach,  "Dean  will  sign  you — 
one  finger  for  a  straight  ball,  two  for  a  curve." 

When  Ken  walked  to  the  box  all  his  muscles 
seemed  quivering  and  tense,  and  he  had  a  con- 
traction in  his  throat.  This  was  his  opportunity. 
He  was  not  unnerved  as  he  had  been  when  he  was 
trying  for  the  other  positions.  All  Ken's  life  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  throwing.  At  his  home 
he  had  been  the  only  boy  who  could  throw  a  stone 
across  the  river;  the  only  one  who  could  get  a  ball 
over  the  high-school  tower.  A  favorite  pastime 
had  always  been  the  throwing  of  small  apples,  or 
walnuts,  or  stones,  and  he  had  acquired  an  ac- 
curacy that  made  it  futile  for  his  boy  comrades 
to  compete  with  him.  Curving  a  ball  had  come 
natural  to  him,  and  he  would  have  pitched  all  his 
high-school  games  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that 
no  one  could  catch  him,  and,  moreover,  none  of  the 
boys  had  found  any  fun  in  batting  against  him. 

When  Ken  faced  the  first  batter  a  feeling  came 
over  him  that  he  had  never  before  had  on  the  ball 
field.  He  was  hot,  trembling,  hurried,  but  this 
new  feeling  was  apart  from  these.  His  feet  were 
on  solid  ground,  and  his  arm  felt  as  it  had  always 
in  those  throwing  contests  where  he  had  so  easily 
won.  He  seemed  to  decide  from  McCord's  posi- 
tion at  the  plate  what  to  throw  him. 
8  107 


TjHE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Ken  took  his  swing.  It  was  slow,  easy,  natural. 
But  the  ball  travelled  with  much  greater  speed 
than  the  batter  expected  from  such  motion. 
McCord  let  the  first  two  balls  go  by,  and  Arthurs 
called  them  both  strikes.  Then  Ken  pitched  an 
out-curve  which  McCord  fanned  at  helplessly. 
Arthurs  sent  Trace  up  next.  Ken  saw  that  the 
coach  was  sending  up  the  weaker  hitters  first. 
Trace  could  not  even  make  a  foul.  Raymond 
was  third  up,  and  Ken  had  to  smile  at  the  scowling 
second-baseman.  Remembering  his  weakness  for 
pulling  away  from  the  plate,  Ken  threw  Raymond 
two  fast  curves  on  the  outside,  and  then  a  slow 
wide  curve,  far  out.  Raymond  could  not  have  hit 
the  first  two  with  a  paddle,  and  the  third  lured 
him  irresistibly  out  of  position  and  made  him 
look  ridiculous.  He  slammed  his  bat  down  and 
slouched  to  the  bench.  Duncan  turned  out  to  be  the 
next  easy  victim.  Four  batters  had  not  so  much 
as  fouled  Ken.  And  Ken  knew  he  was  holding 
himself  in — that,  in  fact,  he  had  not  let  out  half 
his  speed.  Blake,  the  next  player,  hit  up  a  little 
fly  that  Ken  caught,  and  Schoonover  made  the 
fifth  man  to  strike  out. 

Then  Weir  stood  over  the  plate,  and  he  was  a 
short,  sturdy  batter,  hard  to  pitch  to.  He  looked 
as  if  he  might  be  able  to  hit  any  kind  of  a  ball. 
Ken  tried  him  first  with  a  straight  fast  one  over 
the  middle  of  the  plate.  Weir  hit  it  hard,  but  it 

108 


NEW    PLAYERS 

went  foul.  And  through  Ken's  mind  flashed  the 
thought  that  he  would  pitch  no  more  speed  to 
Weir  or  players  who  swung  as  he  did.  Accord- 
ingly Ken  tried  the  slow  curve  that  had  baffled 
Raymond.  Weir  popped  it  up  and  retired  in 
disgust. 

The  following  batter  was  Graves,  who  strode 
up  smiling,  confident,  sarcastic,  as  if  he  knew  he 
could  do  more  than  the  others.  Ken  imagined 
what  the  third-baseman  would  have  said  if  the 
coach  had  not  been  present.  Graves  always 
ruffled  Ken  the  wrong  way. 

"ril  strike  him  out  if  I  break  my  arm!"  mut- 
tered Ken  to  himself.  He  faced  Graves  deliberate- 
ly and  eyed  his  position  at  bat.  Graves  as  de- 
liberately laughed  at  him. 

"Pitch  up,  pitch  up!"  he  called  out. 

"Right  over  the  pan!"  retorted  Ken,  as  quick 
as  an  echo.  He  went  hot  as  fire  all  over.  This 
fellow  Graves  had  some  strange  power  of  infuriat- 
ing him. 

Ken  took  a  different  swing,  which  got  more  of 
his  weight  in  motion,  and  let  his  arm  out.  Like  a 
white  bullet  the  ball  shot  plateward,  rising  a  lit- 
tle so  that  Graves  hit  vainly  under  it.  The  ball 
surprised  Dean,  knocked  his  hands  apart  as  if  they 
had  been  paper,  and  resounded  from  his  breast- 
protector.  Ken  pitched  the  second  ball  in  the 
same  place  with  a  like  result,  except  that  Dean 

IOQ 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

held  on  to  it.  Graves  had  lost  his  smile  and  wore 
an  expression  of  sickly  surprise.  The  third  ball 
travelled  by  him  and  cracked  in  Dean's  mitt,  and 
Arthurs  called  it  a  strike. 

"Easy  there — that'll  do!"  yelled  the  coach. 
"Come  in  here,  Peg.  Out  on  the  field  now,  boys." 

Homans  stopped  Ken  as  they  were  passing  each 
other,  and  Ken  felt  himself  under  the  scrutiny  of 
clear  gray  eyes. 

"Youngster,  you  look  good  to  me,"  said  Homans. 

Ken  also  felt  himself  regarded  with  astonish- 
ment by  many  of  the  candidates;  and  Ray  ran  a 
keen,  intuitive  glance  over  him  from  head  to  foot. 
But  it  was  the  coach's  manner  that  struck  Ken 
most  forcibly.  Worry  was  utterly  unlike  him- 
self. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  this  before — 
you — you — "  he  yelled,  red  as  a  beet  in  the  face. 
He  grasped  Ken  with  both  hands,  then  he  let  him 
go,  and  picking  up  a  ball  and  a  mitt  he  grasped 
him  again.  Without  a  word  he  led  Ken  across 
the  field  and  to  a  secluded  corner  behind  the 
bleachers.  Ken  felt  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  was 
being  led  to  execution. 

Worry  took  off  his  coat  and  vest  and  collar. 
He  arranged  a  block  of  wood  for  a  plate  and 
stepped  off  so  many  paces  and  placed  another 
piece  of  wood  to  mark  the  pitcher's  box.  Then 
he  donned  the  mitt. 

no 


NEW    PLAYERS 

"Peg,  somethin's  comin'  off.  J  know  it.  I 
never  make  mistakes  in  sizin'  up  pitchers.  But 
I've  had  such  hard  luck  this  season  that  I  can't 
believe  my  own  eyes.  We've  got  to  prove  it. 
Now  you  go  out  there  and  pitch  to  me.  Just 
natural  like  at  first." 

Ken  pitched  a  dozen  balls  or  more,  some  in- 
curves, some  out-curves.  Then  he  threw  what 
he  called  his  drop,  which  he  executed  by  a  straight 
overhand  swing. 

"Oh— a  beauty!"  yelled  Worry.  "Where,  Peg, 
where  did  you  learn  that  ?  Another,  lower  now." 

Worry  fell  over  trying  to  stop  the  glancing  drop, 

"Try  straight  ones  now,  Peg,  right  over  the 
middle.  See  how  many  you  can  pitch." 

One  after  another,  with  free,  easy  motion,  Ken 
shot  balls  squarely  over  the  plate.  Worry  count- 
ed them,  and  suddenly,  after  the  fourteenth  pitch, 
he  stood  up  and  glared  at  Ken. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  keep  puttin'  'em  over  this  pan 
all  day  that  way  ?" 

"Mr.  Arthurs,  I  couldn't  miss  that  plate  if  I 
pitched  a  week,"  replied  Ken. 

"Stop  callin'  me  Mister!"  yelled  Worry.  "Now, 
put  'em  where  I  hold  my  hands — inside  corner  . . . 
outside  corner  .  .  .  again  .  .  .  inside  now,  low  .  .  . 
another  ...  a  fast  one  over,  now  .  .  .  high,  inside. 
Oh,  Peg,  this  ain't  right.  I  ain't  seein'  straight. 
I  think  I'm  dreamin'.  Come  on  with  'em!" 

in 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Fast  and  true  Ken  sped  the  balls  into  Worry's 
mitt.  Seldom  did  the  coach  have  to  move  his 
hands  at  all. 

"  Peg  Ward,  did  you  know  that  pitchin'  was  all 
control,  puttin'  the  ball  where  you  wanted  to?" 
asked  Worry,  stopping  once  more. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  replied  Ken. 

"How  did  you  learn  to  peg  a  ball  as  straight 
as  this?" 

Ken  told  him  how  he  had  thrown  at  marks  all 
his  life. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  Worry 
seemed  not  to  be  able  to  get  over  Ken's  back- 
wardness. "Look  at  the  sleepless  nights  and  the 
gray  hairs  you  could  have  saved  me."  He  stamped 
around  as  if  furious,  yet  underneath  the  surface 
Ken  saw  that  the  coach  was  trying  to  hide  his 
elation.  "Here  now,"  he  shouted,  suddenly,  "a 
few  more,  and  peg  'em!  See?  Cut  loose  and  let 
me  see  what  steam  you've  got!" 

Ken  whirled  with  all  his  might  and  delivered 
the  ball  with  all  his  weight  in  the  swing.  The 
ball  seemed  to  diminish  in  size,  it  went  so  swiftly. 
Near  the  plate  it  took  an  upward  jump,  and  it 
knocked  Worry's  mitt  off  his  hand. 

Worry  yelled  out,  then  he  looked  carefully  at 
Ken,  but  he  made  no  effort  to  go  after  the  ball  or 
pick  up  the  mitt. 

"Did  I  say  for  you  to  knock  my  block  off  ?  .  . . 

112 


NEW    PLAYERS 

Come  here,  Peg.  You're  only  a  youngster.  Do 
you  think  you  can  keep  that?  Are  you  goin*  to 
let  me  teach  you  to  pitch  ?  Have  you  got  any 
nerve  ?  Are  you  up  in  the  air  at  the  thought  of 
Place  and  Herne?" 

Then  he  actually  hugged  Ken,  and  kept  hold 
of  him  as  if  he  might  get  away.  He  was  panting 
and  sweating.  All  at  once  he  sat  down  on  one 
of  the  braces  of  the  bleachers  and  began  mopping 
his  face.  He  seemed  to  cool  down,  to  undergo 
a  subtle  change. 

"Peg,"  he  said,  quietly,  "I'm  as  bad  as  some 
of  'em  fat-head  directors. . . .  You  see  I  didn't  have 
no  kind  of  a  pitcher  to  work  on  this  spring.  I 
kept  on  hopin'.  Strange  why  I  didn't  quit.  And 
now — my  boy,  you're  a  kid,  but  you're  a  natural 
born  pitcher." 


XI 

STATE   UNIVERSITY  GAME 

A  RTHURS  returned  to  the  diamond  and  called 
/*  the  squad  around  him.  He  might  have  been 
another  coach  from  the  change  that  was  manifest 
in  him. 

"Boys,  I've  picked  the  varsity,  and  sorry  I  am 
to  say  you  all  can't  be  on  it.  Ward,  Dean,  McCord, 
Raymond,  Weir,  Graves,  Ray,  Homans,  Trace, 
Duncan,  and  Schoonover — these  men  will  report 
at  once  to  Trainer  Murray  and  obey  his  orders. 
Then  pack  your  trunks  and  report  to  me  at  36 
Spring  Street  to-night.  That's  all — up  on  your 
toes  now.  .  .  .  The  rest  of  you  boys  will  each  get 
his  uniform  and  sweater,  but,  of  course,  I  can't 
give  you  the  varsity  letter.  You've  all  tried  hard 
and  done  your  best.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you, 
and  hope  you'll  try  again  next  year." 

Led  by  Arthurs,  the  players  trotted  across  the 
field  to  Murray's  quarters.  Ken  used  all  his  eyes 
as  he  went  in.  This  was  the  sacred  precinct  of 
the  chosen  athletes,  and  it  was  not  open  to  any 
others.  He  saw  a  small  gymnasium,  and  ad- 

114 


STATE    UNIVERSITY    GAME 

joining  it  a  large,  bright  room  with  painted  win- 
dows that  let  in  the  light,  but  could  not  be  seen 
through.  Around  the  room  on  two  sides  were 
arranged  huge  box-like  bins  with  holes  in  the  lids 
and  behind  them  along  the  wall  were  steam-pipes. 
On  the  other  two  sides  were  little  zinc-lined  rooms, 
with  different  kinds  of  pipes,  which  Ken  concluded 
were  used  for  shower  baths.  Murray,  the  trainer, 
was  there,  and  two  grinning  negroes  with  towels 
over  their  shoulders,  and  a  little  dried-up  Scotch- 
man who  was  all  one  smile. 

"Murray,  here's  my  bunch.  Look  'em  over, 
and  to-morrow  start  'em  in  for  keeps,"  said 
Arthurs. 

"Well,  Worry,  they're  not  a  bad-looking  lot. 
Slim  and  trim.  We  won't  have  to  take  off  any 
beef.  Here's  Reddy  Ray.  I  let  you  have  him 
this  year,  Worry,  but  the  track  team  will  miss 
him.  And  here's  Peg  Ward.  I  was  sure  you'd 
pick  him,  Worry.  And  this  is  Homans,  isn't  it  ? 
I  remember  you  in  the  freshmen  games.  The  rest 
of  you  boys  I'll  have  to  get  acquainted  with.  They 
say  I'm  a  pretty  hard  fellow,  but  that's  on  the  out- 
side. Now,  hustle  out  of  your  suits,  and  we'll 
give  you  all  a  good  stew  and  a  rub-down." 

What  the  stew  was  soon  appeared  plain  to  Ken. 
He  was  the  first  player  undressed,  and  Murray, 
lifting  up  one  of  the  box-lids,  pushed  Ken  inside. 

"Sit  down  and  put  your  feet  in  that  pan,"  he 
"5 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

directed.  "When  I  drop  the  lid  let  your  head 
come  out  the  hole.  There!'*  Then  he  wrapped 
a  huge  towel  around  Ken's  neck,  being  careful  to 
tuck  it  close  and  tight.  With  that  he  reached  round 
to  the  back  of  the  box  and  turned  on  the  steam. 

Ken  felt  like  a  jack-in-the-box.  The  warm 
steam  was  pleasant.  He  looked  about  him  to  see 
the  other  boys  being  placed  in  like  positions.  Ray- 
mond had  the  box  on  one  side,  and  Reddy  Ray 
the  one  on  the  other. 

"It's  great,"  said  Ray,  smiling  at  Ken.  "You'll 
like  it." 

Raymond  looked  scared.  Ken  wondered  if  the 
fellow  ever  got  any  enjoyment  out  of  things.  Then 
Ken  found  himself  attending  to  his  own  sensations. 
The  steam  was  pouring  out  of  the  pipe  inside  the 
box,  and  it  was  growing  wetter,  thicker,  and 
hotter.  The  pleasant  warmth  and  tickling  changed 
to  a  burning  sensation.  Ken  found  himself 
bathed  in  a  heavy  sweat.  Then  he  began  to  smart 
in  different  places,  and  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
keep  rubbing  them.  The  steam  grew  hotter;  his 
body  was  afire;  his  breath  labored  in  great  heaves. 
Ken  felt  that  he  must  cry  out.  He  heard  ex- 
clamations, then  yells,  from  some  of  the  other 
boxed-up  players,  and  he  glanced  quickly  around. 
Reddy  Ray  was  smiling,  and  did  not  look  at  all 
uncomfortable.  But  Raymond  was  scarlet  in  the 
face,  and  he  squirmed  his  head  to  and  fro. 

116 


STATE    UNIVERSITY   GAME 

"Ought"  he  bawled.     "Let  me  out  of  heref* 

One  of  the  negro  attendants  lifted  the  lid  and 
helped  Raymond  out.  He  danced  about  as  if  on 
hot  bricks.  His  body  was  the  color  of  a  boiled 
lobster.  The  attendant  put  him  under  one  of 
the  showers  and  turned  the  water  on.  Raymond 
uttered  one  deep,  low,  "O-o-o-o!"  Then  McCord 
begged  to  be  let  out;  Weir's  big  head,  with  its 
shock  of  hair,  resembled  that  of  an  angry  lion; 
little  Trace  screamed,  and  Duncan  yelled. 

"Peg,  how 're  you?"  asked  Murray,  walking 
up  to  Ken.  "It's  always  pretty  hot  the  first  few 
times.  But  afterward  it's  fine.  Look  at  Reddy." 

"Murray,  give  Peg  a  good  stewin',"  put  in 
Arthurs.  "He's  got  a  great  arm,  and  we  must 
take  care  of  it." 

Ken  saw  the  other  boys,  except  Ray,  let  out,  and 
he  simply  could  not  endure  the  steam  any  longer. 

"I've  got — enough,"  he  stammered. 

"Scotty,  turn  on  a  little  more  stew,"  ordered 
Murray,  cheerfully;  then  he  rubbed  his  hand 
over  Ken's  face.  "You're  not  hot  yet." 

Scotty  turned  on  more  steam,  and  Ken  felt  it  as 
a  wet  flame.  He  was  being  flayed  alive. 

"Please — please — let  me  out!"  he  implored. 

With  a  laugh  Murray  lifted  the  lid,  and  Ken 
hopped  out.  He  was  as  red  as  anything  red  he 
had  ever  seen.  Then  Scotty  shoved  him  under 
a  shower,  and  as  the  icy  water  came  down  iu  * 

117 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

deluge  Ken  lost  his  breath,  his  chest  caved  in,  and 
he  gasped.  Scotty  led  him  out  into  the  room, 
dried  him  with  a  towel,  rubbed  him  down,  and 
then,  resting  Ken's  arm  on  his  shoulder,  began  to 
pat  and  beat  and  massage  it.  In  a  few  moments 
Ken  thought  his  arm  was  a  piece  of  live  India 
rubber.  He  had  never  been  in  such  a  glow. 
When  he  had  dressed  he  felt  as  light  as  air,  strong, 
fresh,  and  keen  for  action. 

"Hustle  now,  Peg,"  said  Arthurs.  "Get  your 
things  packed.  Supper  to-night  at  the  trainin'- 
house." 

It  was  after  dark  when  Ken  got  an  expressman 
to  haul  his  trunk  to  the  address  on  Spring  Street. 
The  house  was  situated  about  the  middle  of  a 
four-storied  block,  and  within  sight  of  Grant 
Field.  Worry  answered  his  ring. 

"Here  you  are,  Peg,  the  last  one.  I  was  begin- 
nin*  to  worry  about  you.  Have  your  trunk  taken 
right  up,  third  floor  back.  Hurry  down,  for  din- 
ner will  be  ready  soon." 

Ken  followed  at  the  heels  of  the  expressman  up 
to  his  room.  He  was  surprised  and  somewhat 
taken  back  to  find  Raymond  sitting  upon  the 
bed. 

"Hello!  excuse  me,"  said  Ken.  "Guess  I've 
got  the  wrong  place." 

"The  coach  said  you  and  I  were  to  room  t<v 
gether,"  returned  Raymond. 

118 


STATE    UNIVERSITY   GAME 

"Us  ?     Room-mates  ?"  ejaculated  Ken. 

Raymond  took  offence  at  this. 

"Wull,  I  guess  I  can  stand  it,"  he  growled. 

"I  hope  I  can,"  was  Ken's  short  reply.  It  was 
Ken's  failing  that  he  could  not  help  retaliating. 
But  he  was  also  as  repentant  as  he  was  quick-tem- 
pered. "Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that.  .  .  .  See  here, 
Raymond,  if  we've  got  to  be  room-mates — " 

Ken  paused  in  embarrassment. 

"Wull,  we're  both  on  the  varsity,"  said  Ray- 
mond. 

"That's  so,"  rejoined  Ken,  brightening.  "It 
makes  a  whole  lot  of  difference,  doesn't  it  ?" 

Raymond  got  off  the  bed  and  looked  at  Ken. 

"What's  your  first  name?"  queried  he.  "I 
don't  like  'Peg.'" 

"Kenneth.     Ken,  for  short.     What's  yours?" 

"Mine's  Kel.     Wull,  Ken—" 

Having  gotten  so  far  Raymond  hesitated,  and 
it  was  Ken  who  first  offered  his  hand.  Raymond 
eagerly  grasped  it.  That  broke  the  ice. 

"Kel,  I  haven't  liked  your  looks  at  all,"  said 
Ken,  apologetically. 

"Ken,  I've  been  going  to  lick  you  all  spring." 

They  went  down-stairs  arm  in  arm. 

It  was  with  great  interest  and  curiosity  that  Ken 
looked  about  the  cozy  and  comfortable  rooms. 
The  walls  were  adorned  with  pictures  of  varsity 
teams  and  players,  and  the  college  colors  were 

119 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

much  in  evidence.  College  magazines  and  papers 
littered  the  table  in  the  reading-room. 

"Boys,  we'll  be  pretty  snug  and  nice  here 
when  things  get  to  runnin'  smooth.  The  grub 
will  be  plain,  but  plenty  of  it.** 

There  were  twelve  in  all  at  the  table,  with  the 
coach  seated  at  the  head.  The  boys  were  hungry, 
and  besides,  as  they  had  as  yet  had  no  chance  to 
become  acquainted,  the  conversation  lagged.  The 
newness  and  strangeness,  however,  did  not  hide 
the  general  air  of  suppressed  gratification.  After 
dinner  Worry  called  them  all  together  in  the 
reading-room. 

"Well,  boys,  here  we  are  together  like  one  big 
family,  and  we're  shut  in  for  two  months.  Now, 
I  know  you've  all  been  fightin*  for  places  on  the 
team,  and  have  had  no  chance  to  be  friendly.  It's 
always  that  way  in  the  beginnin',  and  I  dare  say 
there'll  be  some  scraps  among  you  before  things 
straighten  out.  We'll  have  more  to  say  about 
that  later.  The  thing  now  is  you're  all  varsity 
men,  and  I'm  puttin*  you  on  your  word  of  honor. 
Your  word  is  good  enough  for  me.  Here's  my 
rules,  and  I'm  more  than  usually  particular  this 
year,  for  reasons  I'll  tell  later. 

"You're  not  to  break  trainin*.  You're  not  to 
eat  anything  anywhere  but  here.  You're  to  cut 
out  cigarettes  and  drinks.  You're  to  be  in  bed 
at  ten  o'clock.  And  I  advise,  although  I  ain't  in- 

120 


STATE    UNIVERSITY   GAME 

sistin',  that  if  you  have  any  leisure  time  you'll 
spend  most  of  it  here.  That's  all." 

For  Ken  the  three  days  following  passed  as  so 
many  hours.  He  did  not  in  the  least  dread  the 
approaching  game  with  State  University,  but  his 
mind  held  scarcely  anything  outside  of  Arthurs' 
coaching.  The  practice  of  the  players  had  been 
wholly  different.  It  was  as  if  they  had  been  freed 
from  some  binding  spell.  Worry  kept  them  at 
fielding  and  batting  for  four  full  hours  every  after- 
noon. Ken,  after  pitching  to  Dean  for  a  while, 
batted  to  the  infield  and  so  had  opportunity  to 
see  the  improvement.  Graves  was  brilliant  at 
third,  Weir  was  steady  and  sure  at  short,  Raymond 
seemed  to  have  springs  in  his  legs  and  pounced 
upon  the  ball  with  wonderful  quickness,  and 
McCord  fielded  all  his  chances  successfully. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  game  Worry  waited  at 
the  training-house  until  all  the  players  came  down- 
stairs in  uniform. 

"Boys,  what's  happened  in  the  past  doesn't 
count.  We  start  over  to-day.  I'm  not  goin*  to 
say  much  or  confuse  you  with  complex  team 
coachin'.  But  I'm  hopeful.  I  sort  of  think 
there's  a  nigger  in  the  woodpile.  I'll  tell  you  to- 
night if  I'm  right.  Think  of  how  you  have  been 
roasted  by  the  students.  Play  like  tigers.  Put 
out  of  your  mind  everything  but  tryin'.  Nothin* 
counts  for  you,  boys.  Errors  are  nothin';  mis- 

tzi 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

takes  are  nothin*.  Play  the  game  as  one  man. 
Don't  think  of  yourselves.  You  all  know  when 
you  ought  to  hit  or  bunt  or  run.  I'm  trustin'  you. 
I  won't  say  a  word  from  the  bench.  And  don't 
underrate  our  chances.  Remember  that  I  think 
it's  possible  we  may  have  somethin'  up  our  sleeves. 
That's  all  from  me  till  after  the  game." 

Worry  walked  to  Grant  Field  with  Ken.  He 
talked  as  they  went  along,  but  not  on  baseball. 
The  State  team  was  already  out  and  practising. 
Worry  kept  Ken  near  him  on  the  bench  and  close- 
ly watched  the  visitors  in  practice.  When  the 
gong  rang  to  call  them  in  he  sent  his  players  out, 
with  a  remark  to  Ken  to  take  his  warming-up 
easily.  Ken  thought  he  had  hardly  warmed  up 
at  all  before  the  coach  called  him  in. 

"Peg,  listen!"  he  whispered.  His  gaze  seemed 
to  hypnotize  Ken.  "Do  you  have  any  idea  what 
you'll  do  to  this  bunch  from  State  ?" 

"Why— no— I—" 

"Listen!  I  tell  you  I  know  they  won't  be  able 
to  touch  you.  .  .  .  Size  up  batters  in  your  own  way. 
If  they  look  as  if  they'd  pull  or  chop  on  a  curve, 
hand  it  up.  If  not,  peg  'em  a  straight  one  over 
the  inside  corner,  high.  If  you  get  in  a  hole  with 
runners  on  bases  use  that  fast  jump  ball,  as  hard 
as  you  can  drive  it,  right  over  the  pan.  .  .  .  Go  in 
with  perfect  confidence.  I  wouldn't  say  that  to 
you.  Peg,  if  I  didn't  feel  it  myself,  honestly.  I'd 

122 


STATE    UNIVERSITY    GAME 

say  for  you  to  do  your  best.  But  I've  sized  up 
these  State  fellows,  and  they  won't  be  able  to  touch 
you.  Remember  what  I  say.  That's  all." 

e<TH  remember,"  said  Ken,  soberly. 

When  the  umpire  called  the  game  there  were 
perhaps  fifty  students  in  the  bleachers  and  a  few 
spectators  in  the  grand-stand,  so  poor  an  attend- 
ance that  the  State  players  loudly  voiced  their 
derision. 

"Hey!  boys,"  yelled  one,  "we  drew  a  crowd 
last  year,  and  look  at  that!" 

"It's  Wayne's  dub  team,"  replied  another. 
They  ran  upon  the  field  as  if  the  result  of  the 
game  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Their  pitcher, 
a  lanky  individual,  handled  the  ball  with  assur- 
ance. 

Homans  led  off  for  Wayne.  He  stood  left- 
handed  at  the  plate,  and  held  his  bat  almost  in 
the  middle.  He  did  not  swing,  but  poked  at  the 
first  ball  pitched  and  placed  a  short  hit  over  third. 
Raymond,  also  left-handed,  came  next,  and,  let- 
ting two  balls  go,  he  bunted  the  third.  Running 
fast,  he  slid  into  first  base  and  beat  the  throw. 
Homans  kept  swiftly  on  toward  third,  drew  the 
throw,  and,  sliding,  was  also  safe.  It  was  fast 
work,  and  the  Wayne  players  seemed  to  rise  off 
the  bench  with  the  significance  of  the  play.  Worry 
Arthurs  looked  on  from  under  the  brim  of  his  hat, 
and  spoke  no  word.  Then  Reddy  Ray  stepped  up. 
9  123 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"They're  all  left-handed!"  shouted  a  State 
player.  The  pitcher  looked  at  Reddy,  then  mo- 
tioned for  his  outfielders  to  play  deeper.  With 
that  he  delivered  the  ball,  which  the  umpire  called 
a  strike.  Reddy  stood  still  and  straight  while  two 
more  balls  sped  by,  then  he  swung  on  the  next. 
A  vicious  low  hit  cut  out  over  first  base  and  skipped 
in  great  bounds  to  the  fence.  Homans  scored. 
Raymond  turned  second,  going  fast.  But  it  was 
Ray's  speed  that  electrified  the  watching  players. 
They  jumped  up  cheering. 

"Oh,  see  him  run!"  yelled  Ken. 

He  was  on  third  before  Raymond  reached  the 
plate.  Weir  lifted  a  high  fly  to  left  field,  and  when 
the  ball  dropped  into  the  fielder's  hands  Ray  ran 
home  on  the  throw-in.  Three  runs  had  been 
scored  in  a  twinkling.  It  amazed  the  State  team. 
They  were  not  slow  in  bandying  remarks  among 
themselves.  "Fast!  Who's  that  red-head?  Is 
this  your  dub  team  ?  Get  in  the  game,  boys  I" 
They  began  to  think  more  of  playing  ball  and  less 
of  their  own  superiority.  Graves,  however,  and 
McCord  following  him,  went  out  upon  plays  to 
the  infield. 

As  Ken  walked  out  toward  the  pitcher's  box 
Homans  put  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said:  "Kid, 
put  them  all  over.  Don't  waste  any.  Make  every 
batter  hit.  Keep  your  nerve.  We're  back  of  you 
out  here."  Then  Reddy  Ray,  in  passing,  spoke 

124 


STATE    UNIVERSITY   GAME 

with  a  cool,  quiet  faith  that  thrilled  Ken,  "Peg, 
we've  got  enough  runs  now  to  win." 

Ken  faced  the  plate  all  in  a  white  glow.  He 
was  far  from  calmness,  but  it  was  a  restless,  fiery 
hurry  for  the  action  of  the  game.  He  remembered 
the  look  in  Worry's  eyes,  and  every  word  that  he 
had  spoken  rang  in  his  ears.  Receiving  the  ball 
from  the  umpire,  he  stepped  upon  the  slab  with  a 
sudden,  strange,  deep  tremor.  It  passed  as  quickly, 
and  then  he  was  eying  the  first  batter.  He  drew 
a  long  breath,  standing  motionless,  with  all  the  sig- 
nificance of  Worry's  hope  flashing  before  him,  and 
then  he  whirled  and  delivered  the  ball.  The  batter 
struck  at  it  after  it  had  passed  him,  and  it  cracked 
in  Dean's  mitt. 

"Speed!"  called  the  State  captain.  "Quick 
eye,  there!" 

The  batter  growled  some  unintelligible  reply. 
Then  he  fouled  the  second  ball,  missed  the  next, 
and  was  out.  The  succeeding  State  player  hit  an 
easy  fly  to  Homans,  and  the  next  had  two  strikes 
called  upon  him,  and  swung  vainly  at  the  third. 

Dean  got  a  base  on  balls  for  Wayne,  Trace 
went  out  trying  to  bunt,  and  Ken  hit  into  short, 
forcing  Dean  at  second.  Homans  lined  to  third, 
retiring  the  side.  The  best  that  the  State  players 
could  do  in  their  half  was  for  one  man  to  send  a 
weak  grounder  to  Raymond,  one  to  fly  out,  and 
the  other  to  fail  on  strikes.  Wayne  went  to  bat 

125 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

again,  and  Raymond  got  his  base  by  being  hit  by 
a  pitched  ball.  Reddy  Ray  bunted  and  was  safe. 
Weir  struck  out.  Graves  rapped  a  safety  through 
short,  scoring  Raymond,  and  sending  Ray  to  third. 
Then  McCord  fouled  out  to  the  catcher.  Again, 
in  State's  inning,  they  failed  to  get  on  base,  being 
unable  to  hit  Ken  effectively. 

So  the  game  progressed,  State  slowly  losing  its 
aggressive  playing,  and  Wayne  gaining  what  its 
opponents  had  lost.  In  the  sixth  Homans  reached 
his  base  on  an  error,  stole  second,  went  to  third  on 
Raymond's  sacrifice,  and  scored  on  Reddy's  drive 
to  right.  State  flashed  up  in  their  half,  getting 
two  men  to  first  on  misplays  of  McCord  and  Weir, 
and  scored  a  run  on  a  slow  hit  to  Graves. 

With  the  bases  full,  Ken  let  his  arm  out  and 
pitched  the  fast  ball  at  the  limit  of  his  speed.  The 
State  batters  were  helpless  before  it,  but  they 
scored  two  runs  on  passed  strikes  by  Dean.  The 
little  catcher  had  a  hard  time  judging  Ken's  jump 
ball.  That  ended  the  run-getting  for  State, 
though  they  came  near  scoring  again  on  more 
fumbling  in  the  infield.  In  the  eighth  Ken  landed 
a  safe  fly  over  second,  and  tallied  on  a  double  by 
Homans. 

Before  Ken  knew  the  game  was  half  over  it  had 
ended— Wayne  6,  State  3.  His  players  crowded 
around  him  and  some  one  called  for  the  Wayne 
yell.  It  was  given  with  wild  vehemence. 

126 


STATE    UNIVERSITY    GAME 

From  that  moment  until  dinner  was  over  at  the 
training-house  Ken  appeared  to  be  the  centre  of 
a  humming  circle.  What  was  said  and  done  he 
never  remembered.  Then  the  coach  stopped  the 
excitement. 

"Boys,  now  for  a  heart-to-heart  talk,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile  both  happy  and  grave.  "We  won 
to-day,  as  I  predicted.  State  had  a  fairly  strong 
team,  but  if  Ward  had  received  perfect  support 
they  would  not  have  got  a  man  beyond  second. 
That's  the  only  personal  mention  I'll  make.  Now, 
listen.  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  with  his  eyes  glinting  brightly  and 
his  jaw  quivering. 

"  I  expected  to  win,  but  before  the  game  I  never 
dreamed  of  our  possibilities.  I  got  a  glimpse  now 
of  what  hard  work  and  a  demon  spirit  to  play  to- 
gether might  make  this  team.  I've  had  an  in- 
spiration. We  are  goin'  to  beat  Herne  and  play 
Place  to  a  standstill." 

Not  a  boy  moved  an  eyelash  as  Arthurs  made 
this  statement,  and  the  sound  of  a  pin  dropping 
could  have  been  heard. 

"To  do  that  we  must  pull  together  as  no  boys 
ever  pulled  together  before.  We  must  be  all  one 
heart.  We  must  be  actuated  by  one  spirit.  Lis- 
ten! If  you  will  stick  together  and  to  me,  I'll  make 
a  team  that  will  be  a  wonder.  Never  the  hittin* 
team  as  good  as  last  year's  varsity,  but  a  faster 

127 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

team,  a  finer  machine.  Think  of  that!  Think 
of  how  we  have  been  treated  this  year!  For  that 
we'll  win  all  the  greater  glory.  It's  worth  all 
there  is  in  you,  boys.  You  would  have  the  proud- 
est record  of  any  team  that  ever  played  for  old 
Wayne. 

"I  love  the  old  college,  boys,  and  I've  given  it 
the  best  years  of  my  life.  If  it's  anything  to  you, 
why,  understand  that  if  I  fail  to  build  up  a  good 
team  this  year  I  shall  be  let  go  by  those  directors 
who  have  made  the  change  in  athletics.  I  could 
stand  that,  but — I've  a  boy  of  my  own  who's  pre- 
parin'  for  Wayne,  and  my  heart  is  set  on  seein' 
him  enter  — and  he  said  he  never  will  if  they  let 
me  go.  So,  you  youngsters  and  me — we've  much 
to  gain.  Go  to  your  rooms  now  and  think,  think 
as  you  never  did  before,  until  the  spirit  of  this  thing, 
the  possibility  of  it,  grips  you  as  it  has  me." 


XII 

KEN   CLASHES   WITH   GRAVES 

weeks  after  the  contest  with  State  Uni- 
1  versity  four  more  games  with  minor  colleges 
had  been  played  and  won  by  Wayne.  Hour  by 
hour  the  coach  had  drilled  the  players;  day  by  day 
the  grilling  practice  told  in  quickening  grasp  of 
team-play,  in  gradual  correction  of  erratic  field- 
ing and  wild  throwing.  Every  game  a  few  more 
students  attended,  reluctantly,  in  half-hearted 
manner. 

"We're  comin'  with  a  rush,"  said  Worry  to  Ken. 
"Say,  but  Dale  and  the  old  gang  have  a  surprise 
in  store  for  'em !  And  the  students  — they're  goin* 
to  drop  dead  pretty  soon  .  .  .  Peg,  Murray  tells  me 
he's  puttin'  weight  on  you." 

"Why,  yes,  it's  the  funniest  thing,"  replied  Ken. 
"To-day  I  weighed  one  hundred  and  sixty-four. 
Worry,  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  fat.* 

"Fat,  nothin',"  snorted  Worry.  "It's  muscle. 
I  told  Murray  to  put  beef  on  you  all  he  can. 
Pretty  soon  you'll  be  able  to  peg  a  ball  through 
the  back -stop.  Dean's  too  light,  Peg.  He's 

129 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

plucky  and  will  make  a  catcher,  but  he's  too  light.. 
You're  batterin'  him  all  up." 

Worry  shook  his  head  seriously. 

"Oh,  he's  fine!"  exclaimed  Ken.  "I'm  not 
afraid  any  more.  He  digs  my  drop  out  of  the 
dust,  and  I  can't  get  a  curve  away  from  him. 
He's  weak  only  on  the  jump  ball,  and  I  don't 
throw  that  often,  only  when  I  let  drive." 

"You'll  be  usin'  that  often  enough  against  Herne 
and  Place.  I'm  dependin'  on  that  for  those 
games.  Peg,  are  you  worryin*  any,  losin'  any 
sleep,  over  those  games  ?" 

"Indeed  I'm  not,"  replied  Ken,  laughing. 

"Say,  I  wish  you'd  have  a  balloon  ascension, 
and  have  it  quick.  It  ain't  natural,  Peg,  for  you 
not  to  get  a  case  of  rattles.  It's  comin'  to  you, 
and  I  don't  want  it  in  any  of  the  big  games." 

"I  don't  want  it  either.  But  Worry,  pitching 
is  all  a  matter  of  control,  you  say  so  often.  I  don't 
believe  I  could  get  wild  and  lose  my  control  if  I 
tried." 

"Peg,  you  sure  have  the  best  control  of  any 
pitcher  I  ever  coached.  It's  your  success.  It  '11 
make  a  great  pitcher  out  of  you.  All  you've  got 
to  learn  is  where  to  pitch  'em  to  Herne  and  Place." 

"How  am  I  to  learn  that?" 

" Listen !"  Worry  whispered.  "  I'm  goin'  to  send 
you  to  Washington  next  week  to  see  Place  and 
Herne  play  Georgetown.  You'll  pay  your  little 

130 


KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 

money  and  sit  in  the  grand-stand  right  behind  the 
catcher.  You'll  have  a  pencil  and  a  score  card, 
and  you'll  be  enjoyin'  the  game.  But,  Peg, 
you'll  also  be  usin'  your  head,  and  when  you  see 
one  of  'em  players  pull  away  on  a  curve,  or  hit 
weak  on  a  drop,  or  miss  a  high  fast  one,  or  slug 
a  low  ball,  you  will  jot  it  down  on  your  card. 
You'll  watch  Place's  hard  hitters  with  hawk  eyes, 
my  boy,  and  a  pitcher's  memory.  And  when  they 
come  along  to  Grant  Field  you'll  have  'em  pretty 
well  sized  up." 

"That's  fine,  Worry,  but  is  it  fair?"  queried 
Ken. 

"  Fair  ?  Why,  of  course.  They  all  do  it.  We 
saw  Place's  captain  in  the  grand-stand  here  last 
spring." 

The  coach  made  no  secret  of  his  pride  and  faith 
in  Ken.  It  was  this,  perhaps,  as  much  as  any- 
thing, which  kept  Ken  keyed  up.  For  Ken  was 
really  pitching  better  ball  than  he  knew  how  to 
pitch.  He  would  have  broken  his  arm  for  Worry; 
he  believed  absolutely  in  what  the  coach  told  him; 
he  did  not  think  of  himself  at  all. 

Worry,  however,  had  plenty  of  enthusiasm  for 
his  other  players.  Every  evening  after  dinner  he 
would  call  them  all  about  him  and  talk  for  an 
hour.  Sometimes  he  would  tell  funny  baseball 
stories;  again,  he  told  of  famous  Wayne-Place 
games,  and  how  they  had  been  won  or  lost;  then 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

at  other  times  he  dwelt  on  the  merits  and  faults 
of  his  own  team.  In  speaking  of  the  swift  develop- 
ment of  this  year's  varsity  he  said  it  was  as  re- 
markable as  it  had  been  unforeseen.  He  claimed 
it  would  be  a  bewildering  surprise  to  Wayne  stu- 
dents and  to  the  big  college  teams.  He  was  work- 
ing toward  the  perfection  of  a  fast  run-getting 
machine.  In  the  five  games  already  played  and 
won  a  good  idea  could  be  gotten  of  Wayne's  team, 
individually  and  collectively.  Homans  was  a 
scientific  short-field  hitter  and  remarkably  sure. 
Raymond  could  not  bat,  but  he  had  developed 
into  a  wonder  in  reaching  first  base,  by  bunt  or 
base  on  balls,  or  being  hit.  Reddy  Ray  was  a 
hard  and  timely  batter,  and  when  he  got  on  base 
his  wonderful  fleetness  made  him  almost  sure  to 
score.  Of  the  other  players  Graves  batted  the 
best;  but  taking  the  team  as  a  whole,  and  com- 
paring them  with  Place  or  Herne,  it  appeared  that 
Reddy  and  Homans  were  the  only  great  hitters, 
and  the  two  of  them,  of  course,  could  not  make  a 
great  hitting  team.  In  fielding,  however,  the  coach 
said  he  had  never  seen  the  like.  They  were  all 
fast,  and  Homans  was  perfect  in  judgment  on 
fly  balls,  and  Raymond  was  quick  as  lightning  to 
knock  down  base  hits,  and  as  to  the  intercollegiate 
sprinter  in  left  field,  it  was  simply  a  breath-taking 
event  to  see  him  run  after  a  ball.  Last  of  all  was 
Ken  Ward  with  his  great  arm.  It  was  a  strangely 

132 


KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 

assorted  team,  Worry  said,  one  impossible  to  judge 
at  the  moment,  but  it  was  one  to  watch. 

"Boys,  we're  comin*  with  a  rush,"  he  went  on 
to  say.  "But  somethin's  holdin'  us  back  a  little. 
There's  no  lack  of  harmony,  yet  there's  a  drag. 
In  spite  of  the  spirit  you've  shown — and  I  want  to 
say  it's  been  great — the  team  doesn't  work  to- 
gether as  one  man  all  the  time.  I  advise  you  all 
to  stick  closer  together.  Stay  away  from  the 
club,  and  everywhere  except  lectures.  We've 
got  to  be  closer  'n  brothers.  It  '11  all  work  out  right 
before  we  go  up  against  Herne  in  June.  That 
game's  comin',  boys,  and  by  that  time  the  old  col- 
lege will  be  crazy.  It  '11  be  our  turn  then." 

Worry's  talks  always  sank  deeply  into  Ken's 
mind  and  set  him  to  thinking  and  revolving  over 
and  over  the  gist  of  them  so  that  he  could  remem- 
ber to  his  profit. 

He  knew  that  some  of  the  boys  had  broken 
training,  and  he  pondered  if  that  was  what  caused 
the  drag  Worry  mentioned.  Ken  had  come  to 
feel  the  life  and  fortunes  of  the  varsity  so  keenly 
that  he  realized  how  the  simplest  deviations  from 
honor  might  affect  the  smooth  running  of  the  team. 
It  must  be  perfectly  smooth.  And  to  make  it  so 
every  player  must  be  of  one  mind. 

Ken  proved  to  himself  how  lack  of  the  highest 
spirit  on  the  part  of  one  or  two  of  the  team  tended 
toward  the  lowering  of  the  general  spirit.  For  he 

133 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

began  to  worry,  and  almost  at  once  it  influenced 
his  playing.  He  found  himself  growing  watchful 
of  his  comrades  and  fearful  of  what  they  might 
be  doing.  He  caught  himself  being  ashamed  of  his 
suspicions.  He  would  as  lief  have  cut  off  his  hand 
as  break  his  promise  to  the  coach.  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, he  exaggerated  his  feeling  and  sense  of  duty. 
He  remembered  the  scene  in  Dale's  room  the  night 
he  refused  to  smoke  and  drink;  how  Dale  had 
commended  his  refusal.  Nevertheless,  he  gath- 
ered from  Dale's  remark  to  Worry  that  breaking 
training  was  not  unusual  or  particularly  harm- 
ful. 

"With  Dale's  team  it  might  not  have  been  so 
bad,"  thought  Ken.  "But  it's  different  with  us. 
We've  got  to  make  up  in  spirit  what  we  lack  in 
ability." 

Weir  and  McCord  occupied  the  room  next  to 
Ken's,  and  Graves  and  Trace,  rooming  together, 
were  also  on  that  floor.  Ken  had  tried  with  all  his 
might  to  feel  friendly  toward  the  third-baseman. 
He  had  caught  Graves  carrying  cake  and  pie  to 
his  room  and  smoking  cigarettes  with  the  window 
open.  One  night  Graves  took  cigarettes  from  his 
pocket  and  offered  them  to  Kel,  Trace,  and  Ken, 
who  all  happened  to  be  in  Ken's  room  at  the  time. 
Trace  readily  accepted;  Kel  demurred  at  first,  but 
finally  took  one.  Graves  then  tossed  the  pack  to 
Ken. 

134 


KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 

"No,  I  don't  smoke.  Besides,  it's  breaking 
training,"  said  Ken. 

"You  make  me  sick,  Ward,"  retorted  Graves. 
"You're  a  wet  blanket.  Do  you  think  we're  going 
to  be  as  sissy  as  that  ?  It's  hard  enough  to  stand 
the  grub  we  get  here,  without  giving  up  a  little 
smoke." 

Ken  made  no  reply,  but  he  found  it  difficult  to 
smother  a  hot  riot  in  his  breast.  When  the  other 
boys  had  gone  to  their  rooms  Ken  took  Kel  to  task 
about  his  wrong-doing. 

"  Do  you  think  that's  the  right  sort  of  thing  ? 
What  would  Worry  say  ?" 

"  Ken,  I  don't  care  about  it,  not  a  bit,"  replied 
Kel,  flinging  his  cigarette  out  of  the  window.  "  But 
Graves  is  always  asking  me  to  do  things — I  hate 
to  refuse.  It  seems  so — " 

"  Kel,  if  Worry  finds  it  out  you'll  lose  your  place 
on  the  team." 

"No!"  exclaimed  Raymond,  staring. 

"Mark  what  I  say.  I  wish  you'd  stop  letting 
Graves  coax  you  into  things." 

"Ken,  he's  always  smuggling  pie  and  cake  and 
candy  into  his  room.  I've  had  some  of  it.  Trace 
said  he'd  brought  in  something  to  drink,  too." 

"It's  a  shame,"  cried  Ken,  in  anger.  "I  never 
liked  him  and  I've  tried  hard  to  change  it.  Now 
I'm  glad  I  couldn't." 

"He  doesn't  have  any  use  for  you,"  replied  Kel. 
135 


THE   YOUNG    PITCHER 

"He's  always  running  you  down  to  the  other  boys. 
What'd  you  ever  do  to  him,  Ken  ?" 

"Oh,  it  was  that  potato  stunt  of  mine  last  falL 
He's  a  Soph,  and  I  hit  him,  I  guess." 

"I  think  it's  more  than  that,"  went  on  Ray- 
mond. "Anyway,  you  look  out  for  him,  because 
he's  aching  to  spoil  your  face." 

"  He  is,  is  he  ?"  snapped  Ken. 

Ken  was  too  angry  to  talk  any  more,  and  so  the 
boys  went  to  2>ed.  The  next  few  days  Ken  dis- 
covered that  either  out  of  shame  or  growing  es- 
trangement Raymond  avoided  him,  and  he  was 
bitterly  hurt.  He  had  come  to  like  the  little 
second-baseman,  and  had  hoped  they  would  be 
good  friends.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  Graves  be- 
came daily  bolder,  and  more  lax  in  training,  and 
his  influence  upon  several  of  the  boys  grew 
stronger.  And  when  Dean,  Schoonover,  and  Dun- 
can appeared  to  be  joining  the  clique,  Ken  decided 
he  would  have  to  talk  to  some  one,  so  he  went  up 
to  see  Ray  and  Homans. 

The  sprinter  was  alone,  sitting  by  his  lamp, 
with  books  and  notes  spread  before  him. 

"  Hello,  Peg!  come  in.  You  look  a  little  glum. 
What's  wrong  ?" 

Reddy  Ray  seemed  like  an  elder  brother  to  Ken, 
and  he  found  himself  blurting  out  his  trouble. 
Ray  looked  thoughtful,  and  after  a  moment  he  re- 
plied in  his  quiet  way: 

136 


"Peg,  it's  new  to  you,  but  it's  an  old  story  to 
me.  The  track  and  crew  men  seldom  break  train* 
ing,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  other 
athletes.  It  seems  to  me  baseball  fellows  are  the 
most  careless.  They  really  don't  have  to  train  so 
conscientiously.  It's  only  a  kind  of  form." 

"But  it's  different  this  year,"  burst  out  Ken. 
"You  know  what  Worry  said,  and  how  he  trusts 


us." 


"You're  right,  Peg,  only  you  mustn't  take  it  so 
hard.  Things  will  work  out  all  right.  Homans 
and  I  were  talking  about  that  to-day.  You  see, 
Worry  wants  the  boys  to  elect  a  captain  soon. 
But  perhaps  he  has  not  confided  in  you  young- 
sters. He  will  suggest  that  you  elect  Homans  or 
me.  Well,  I  won't  run  for  the  place,  so  it  '11  be 
Homans.  He's  the  man  to  captain  us,  that's  cer- 
tain. Graves  thinks,  though,  that  he  can  pull  the 
wires  and  be  elected  captain.  He's  way  off.  Be- 
sides, Peg,  he's  making  a  big  mistake.  Worry 
doesn't  like  him,  and  when  he  finds  out  about  this 
break  in  training  we'll  have  a  new  third-baseman. 
No  doubt  Blake  will  play  the  bag.  Graves  is  the 
only  drag  in  Worry's  baseball  machine  now,  and 
he'll  not  last.  .  .  .  So,  Peg,  don't  think  any  more 
about  it.  Mind  you,  the  whole  team  circles  round 
you.  You're  the  pivot,  and  as  sure  as  you're 
born  you'll  be  Wayne's  captain  next  year.  That's 
something  for  you  to  keep  in  mind  and  work  for. 

137 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

If  Graves  keeps  after  you — hand  him  one!  That's 
not  against  rules.  Punch  him!  If  Worry  knew 
the  truth  he  would  pat  you  on  the  back  for  slugging 
Graves.  Cheer  up,  Peg!  Even  if  Graves  has  got 
all  the  kids  on  his  side,  which  I  doubt,  Homans 
and  I  are  with  you.  And  you  can  just  bet  that 
Worry  Arthurs  will  side  with  us.  ...  Now  run 
along,  for  I  must  study." 

This  conversation  was  most  illuminating  to  Ken. 
He  left  Reddy's  room  all  in  a  quiver  of  warm 
pleasure  and  friendliness  at  the  great  sprinter's 
quiet  praise  and  advice.  To  make  such  a  friend 
was  worth  losing  a  hundred  friends  like  Graves. 
He  dismissed  the  third-baseman  and  his  scheming 
from  mind,  and  believed  Reddy  as  he  had  be- 
lieved Arthurs.  But  Ken  thought  much  of  what 
he  divined  was  a  glimmering  of  the  inside  work- 
ings of  a  college  baseball  team.  He  had  one  wild 
start  of  rapture  at  the  idea  of  becoming  captain 
of  Wayne's  varsity  next  year,  and  then  he  dared 
think  no  more  of  that. 

The  day  dawned  for  Ken  to  go  to  Washington, 
and  he  was  so  perturbed  at  his  responsibilities 
that  he  quite  forgot  to  worry  about  the  game 
Wayne  had  to  play  in  his  absence.  Arthurs  in- 
tended to  pitch  Schoonover  in  that  game,  and  had 
no  doubt  as  to  its  outcome.  The  coach  went  to 
the  station  with  Ken,  once  more  repeated  his  in- 
structions, and  saw  him  upon  the  train.  Certainly 

138 


KEN    CLASHES    WITH    GRAVES 

there  was  no  more  important  personage  on  board 
that  Washington  Limited  than  Ken  Ward.  In 
fact,  Ken  was  so  full  of  importance  and  respon- 
sibility that  he  quite  divided  his  time  between  fool- 
ish pride  in  his  being  chosen  to  "  size  up  "  the  great 
college  teams  and  fearful  conjecture  as  to  his 
ability. 

At  any  rate,  the  time  flew  by,  the  trip  seemed 
short,  and  soon  he  was  on  the  Georgetown  field. 
It  was  lucky  that  he  arrived  early  and  got  a  seat 
in  the  middle  of  the  grand-stand,  for  there  was  a 
throng  in  attendance  when  the  players  came  on 
the  diamond.  The  noisy  bleachers,  the  merry 
laughter,  the  flashing  colors,  and  especially  the 
bright  gowns  and  pretty  faces  of  the  girls  gave  Ken 
pleasurable  consciousness  of  what  it  would  mean 
to  play  before  such  a  crowd.  At  Wayne  he  had 
pitched  to  empty  seats.  Remembering  Worry's 
prophecy,  however,  he  was  content  to  wait. 

From  that  moment  his  duty  absorbed  him.  He 
found  it  exceedingly  fascinating  to  study  the 
batters,  and  utterly  forgot  his  responsibility.  Not 
only  did  he  jot  down  on  his  card  his  idea  of  the 
weakness  and  strength  of  the  different  hitters,  but 
he  compared  what  he  would  have  pitched  to  them 
with  what  was  actually  pitched.  Of  course,  he 
had  no  test  of  his  comparison,  but  he  felt  intuitive- 
ly that  he  had  the  better  of  it.  Watching  so  close- 
ly, Ken  had  forced  home  to  him  Arthurs'  repeated 
10  139 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

assertion  that  control  of  the  ball  made  a  pitcher. 
Both  pitchers  in  this  game  were  wild.  Locating 
the  plate  with  them  was  more  a  matter  of  luck 
than  ability.  The  Herne  pitcher  kept  wasting 
balls  and  getting  himself  in  the  hole,  and  then 
the  heavy  Georgetown  players  would  know  when 
he  had  to  throw  a  strike,  if  he  could,  and  accord- 
ingly they  hit  hard.  They  beat  Herne  badly. 

The  next  day  in  the  game  with  Place  it  was  a 
different  story.  Ken  realized  he  was  watching  a 
great  team.  They  reminded  him  of  Dale's  var- 
sity, though  they  did  not  play  that  fiendish  right- 
field-hitting  game.  Ken  had  a  numbness  come 
over  him  at  the  idea  of  facing  this  Place  team. 
It  soon  passed,  for  they  had  their  vulnerable  places. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  they  hit  hard  on  speed  and 
curves,  for  they  got  them  where  they  wanted  them. 
Keene  flied  out  on  high  fast  balls  over  the  inside 
corner;  Starke  bit  on  low  drops;  Martin  was 
weak  on  a  slow  ball;  MacNeff,  the  captain,  could 
not  touch  speed  under  his  chin,  and  he  always 
struck  at  it.  On  the  other  hand,  he  killed  a  low 
ball.  Prince  was  the  only  man  who,  in  Ken's 
judgment,  seemed  to  have  no  weakness.  These 
men  represented  the  batting  strength  of  Place, 
and  Ken,  though  he  did  not  in  the  least  under- 
estimate them,  had  no  fear.  He  would  have  liked 
to  pitch  against  them  right  there. 

"It's  all  in  control  of  the  ball,"  thought  Ken. 
140 


KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 

"Here  are  seventeen  bases  on  balls  in  two  games  — 
four  pitchers.  They're  wild.  .  .  .  But  suppose  I 
got  wild,  too  ?" 

The  idea  made  Ken  shiver. 

He  travelled  all  night,  sleeping  on  the  train,  and 
got  home  to  the  training-house  about  nine  the  next 
morning.  Worry  was  out,  Scotty  said,  and  the 
boys  had  all  gone  over  to  college.  Ken  went  up- 
stairs and  found  Raymond  in  bed. 

"Why,  Kel,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Ken. 

"I'm  sick,"  replied  Kel.  He  was  pale  and  ap- 
peared to  be  in  distress. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.  Can't  I  do  something?  Get 
you  some  medicine?  Call  Murray?" 

"Ken,  don't  call  anybody,  unless  you  want  to 
see  me  disgraced.  Worry  got  out  this  morning 
before  he  noticed  my  absence  from  breakfast.  I 
was  scared  to  death." 

"Scared?     Disgraced?" 

"Ken,  I  drank  a  little  last  night.  It  always 
makes  me  sick.  You  know  I've  a  weak  stomach." 

"Kel,  you  didn't  drink,  say  you  didn't!"  im- 
plored Ken,  sitting  miserably  down  on  the  bed. 

"Yes,  I  did.  I  believe  I  was  half  drunk.  I 
can't  stand  anything.  I'm  sick,  sick  of  myself, 
too,  this  morning.  And  I  hate  Graves." 

Ken  jumped  up  with  kindling  eyes. 

"Kel,  you've  gone  back  on  me — we'd  started 
to  be  such  friends — I  tried  to  persuade  you — " 

141 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"I  know.  I'm  sorry,  Ken.  But  I  really  liked 
you  best.  I  was — you  know  how  it  is,  Ken.  If 
only  Worry  don't  find  it  out!" 

"Tell  him,"  said  Ken,  quickly. 

"What?"  groaned  Kel,  in  fright. 

"Tell  him.     Let  me  tell  him  for  you." 

"No— no — no.  He'd  fire  me  off  the  team,  and 
I  couldn't  stand  that." 

"I'll  bet  Worry  wouldn't  do  anything  of  the 
kind.  Maybe  he  knows  more  than  you  think." 

"I'm  afraid  to  tell  him,  Ken.  I  just  can't  tell 
him." 

"  But  you  gave  your  word  of  honor  not  to  break 
training.  The  only  thing  left  is  to  confess." 

"I  won't  tell,  Ken.  It's  not  so  much  my  own 
place  on  the  team — there  are  the  other  fellows." 

Ken  saw  that  it  was  no  use  to  argue  with  Ray- 
mond while  he  was  so  sick  and  discouraged,  so  he 
wisely  left  oflF  talking  and  did  his  best  to  make  him 
comfortable.  Raymond  dropped  asleep  after  a 
little,  and  when  he  awakened  just  before  lunch- 
time  he  appeared  better. 

"I  won't  be  able  to  practise  to-day,"  he  said; 
"but  I'll  go  down  to  lunch." 

As  he  was  dressing  the  boys  began  to  come  in 
from  college  and  ran  whistling  up  the  stairs. 

Graves  bustled  into  the  room  with  rather  anxious 
haste. 

"How 're  you  feeling?"  he  asked. 
142 


KEN  CLASHES  WITH  GRAVES 

"Pretty  rocky.  Graves — I  told  Ward  about 
it,"  said  Raymond. 

Upon  his  hurried  entrance  Graves  had  not  ob- 
served Ken. 

"What  did  you  want  to  do  that  for?"  he  de- 
manded, arrogantly. 

Raymond  looked  at  him,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Ward,  I  suppose  you'll  squeal,"  said  Graves, 
sneeringly.  "That  '11  about  be  your  speed." 

Ken  rose  and,  not  trusting  himself  to  speak, 
remained  silent. 

"You  sissy!"  cried  Graves,  hotly.  "Will  you 
peach  on  us  to  Arthurs  ?" 

"No.  But  if  you  don't  get  out  of  my  room  I'll 
hand  you  one,"  replied  Ken,  his  voice  growing 
thick. 

Graves's  face  became  red  as  fire. 

"What?  Why,  you  white-faced,  white-haired 
freshman!  I've  been  aching  to  punch  you!" 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  commence  ?" 

With  the  first  retort  Ken  had  felt  a  hot  trembling 
go  over  him,  and  having  yielded  to  his  anger  he 
did  not  care  what  happened. 

"Ken — Graves,"  pleaded  Raymond,  white  as 
a  sheet.  "Don't — please!"  He  turned  from  one 
to  the  other.  "Don't  scrap!" 

"Graves,  it's  up  to  some  one  to  call  you,  and 
I'm  going  to  do  it,"  said  Ken,  passionately. 
"You've  been  after  me  all  season,  but  I  wouldn't 

M3 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

care  for  that.  It's  your  rotten  influence  on  Kel 
and  the  other  boys  that  makes  me  wild.  You  are 
the  drag  in  this  baseball  team.  You  are  a  crack 
ball-player,  but  you  don't  know  what  college 
spirit  means.  You're  a  mucker!" 

"I'll  lick  you  for  that!"  raved  Graves,  shaking 
his  fists. 

"You  can't  lick  me!" 

"  Come  outdoors.  I  dare  you  to  come  outdoors. 
I  dare  you!" 

Ken  strode  out  of  the  room  and  started  down 
the  hall.  "Come  on!"  he  called,  grimly,  and  ran 
down  the  stairs.  Graves  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  followed. 

Raymond  suddenly  called  after  them: 

"Give  it  to  him,  Ken!  Slug  him!  Beat  him 
all  up!" 


XIII 

FRIENDSHIP 

A  HALF-HOUR  or  less  afterward  Ken  entered 
the  training-house.  It  chanced  that  the  boys, 
having  come  in,  were  at  the  moment  passing 
through  the  hall  to  the  dining-room,  and  with 
them  was  Worry  Arthurs. 

"Hello!  you  back?  What's  the  matter  with 
you  ?"  demanded  the  coach. 

Ken's  lips  were  puffed  and  bleeding,  and  his 
chin  was  bloody.  Sundry  red  and  dark  marks  dis- 
figured his  usually  clear  complexion.  His  eyes  were 
blazing,  and  his  hair  rumpled  down  over  his  brow. 

"You've  been  in  a  scrap,"  declared  Worry. 

"I  know  it,"  said  Ken.  "Let  me  go  up  and 
wash." 

Worry  had  planted  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairway  in  front  of  Ken.  The  boys  stood  silent 
and  aghast.  Suddenly  there  came  thumps  upon 
the  stairs,  and  Raymond  appeared,  jumping  down 
three  steps  at  a  time.  He  dodged  under  Worry's 
arm  and  plunged  at  Ken  to  hold  him  with  both 
hands. 

'45 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"Ken!  You're  all  bloody!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
great  excitement.  "He  didn't  lick  you  ?  Say  he 
didn't!  He's  got  to  fight  me,  too!  You're  all 
bunged  up!" 

"Wait  till  you  see  him!"  muttered  Ken. 

"A-huh!"  said  Worry.  "Been  scrappin'  with 
Graves!  What  for?" 

"It's  a  personal  matter,"  replied  Ken. 

"Come,  no  monkey-biz  with  me,"  said  the  coach, 
sharply.  "Out  with  it!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"Mr.  Arthurs,  it's  my  fault,"  burst  out  Ray- 
mond, flushed  and  eager.  "Ken  was  fighting  on 
my  account." 

"  It  wasn't  anything  of  the  kind,"  retorted  Ken, 
vehemently. 

"Yes  it  was,"  cried  Raymond,  "and  I'm  going 
to  tell  why." 

The  hall  door  opened  to  admit  Graves.  He 
was  dishevelled,  dirty,  battered,  and  covered  with 
blood.  When  he  saw  the  group  in  the  hall  he 
made  as  if  to  dodge  out. 

"  Here,  come  on !  Take  your  medicine,"  called 
Worry,  tersely. 

Graves  shuffled  in,  cast  down  and  sheepish,  a 
very  different  fellow  from  his  usual  vaunting 
self. 

"Now,  Raymond,  what's  this  all  about?"  de- 
manded Worry. 

146 


FRIENDSHIP 

Raymond  changed  color,  but  he  did  not  hesitate 
an  instant. 

"  Ken  came  in  this  morning  and  found  me  sick 
in  bed.  I  told  him  I  had  been  half  drunk  last 
night — and  that  Graves  had  gotten  me  to  drink. 
Then  Graves  came  in.  He  and  Ken  had  hard 
words.  They  went  outdoors  to  fight." 

"Would  you  have  told  me?"  roared  the  coach 
in  fury.  "Would  you  have  come  to  me  with  this 
if  I  hadn't  caught  Peg  ?" 

Raymond  faced  him  without  flinching. 

"At  first  I  thought  not— when  Ken  begged  me 
to  confess  I  just  couldn't.  But  now  I  know  I 
would." 

At  that  Worry  lost  his  sudden  heat,  and  then  he 
turned  to  the  stricken  Graves. 

"Mebbe  it'll  surprise  you, Graves,  to  learn  that 
I  knew  a  little  of  what  you've  been  doin'.  I  told 
Homans  to  go  to  you  in  a  quiet  way  and  tip  off 
your  mistake.  I  hoped  you'd  see  it.  But  you 
didn't.  Then  you've  been  knockin'  Ward  all 
season,  for  no  reason  I  could  discover  but  jealousy. 
Now,  listen!  Peg  Ward  has  done  a  lot  for  me 
already  this  year,  and  he'll  do  more.  But  even  if 
he  beats  Place,  it  won't  mean  any  more  to  me  than 
the  beatin'  he's  given  you.  Now,  you  pack  your 
things  and  get  out  of  here.  There's  no  position 
for  you  on  this  varsity." 

Without  a  word  in  reply  and  amid  intense  si- 
H7 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

lence  Graves  went  slowly  up-stairs.  When  he  dis- 
appeared Worry  sank  into  a  chair,  and  looked  as 
if  he  was  about  to  collapse.  Little  Trace  walked 
hesitatingly  forward  with  the  manner  of  one  pro- 
pelled against  his  will. 

"Mr.  Arthurs,  I— I,"  he  stammered  — " I'm 
guilty,  too.  I  broke  training.  I  want  to—" 

The  coach  waved  him  back.  "  I  don't  want  to 
hear  it,  not  another  word — from  anybody.  It's 
made  me  sick.  I  can't  stand  any  more.  Only  I 
see  I've  got  to  change  my  rules.  There  won't  be 
any  rules  any  more.  You  can  all  do  as  you  like. 
I'd  rather  have  you  all  go  stale  than  practise  de- 
ceit on  me.  I  cut  out  the  trainin'  rules." 

"No!"  The  team  rose  up  as  one  man  and 
flung  the  refusal  at  the  coach. 

"Worry,  we  won't  stand  for  that,"  spoke  up 
Reddy  Ray.  His  smooth,  cool  voice  was  like  oil 
on  troubled  waters.  "I  think  Homans  and  I  can 
answer  for  the  kids  from  now  on.  Graves  was  a 
disorganizer — that's  the  least  I'll  say  of  him.  We'll 
elect  Homans  captain  of  the  team,  and  then  we'll 
cut  loose  like  a  lot  of  demons.  It's  been  a  long, 
hard  drill  for  you,  Worry,  but  we're  in  the  stretch 
now  and  going  to  finish  fast.  We've  been  a  kind 
of  misfit  team  all  spring.  You've  had  a  blind 
faith  that  something  could  be  made  out  of  us. 
Homans  has  waked  up  to  our  hidden  strength. 
And  I  go  further  than  that.  I've  played  ball  for 

148 


FRIENDSHIP 

years.  I  know  the  game.  I  held  down  left  field 
for  two  seasons  on  the  greatest  college  team  ever 
developed  out  West.  That's  new  to  you.  Well, 
it  gives  me  license  to  talk  a  little.  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  I  can  feel  what's  in  this  team.  It's  like 
the  feeling  I  have  when  I'm  running  against  a 
fast  man  in  the  sprints.  From  now  on  we'll  be  a 
family  of  brothers  with  one  idea.  And  that  '11  be 
to  play  Place  off  their  feet." 

Coach  Arthurs  sat  up  as  if  he  had  been  given 
the  elixir  of  life.  Likewise  the  members  of  the 
team  appeared  to  be  under  the  spell  of  a  powerful 
stimulus.  The  sprinter's  words  struck  fire  from 
all  present. 

Homans'  clear  gray  eyes  were  like  live  coals. 
"Boys!  One  rousing  cheer  for  Worry  Arthurs 
and  for  Wayne!" 

Lusty,  strained  throats  let  out  the  cheer  with  a 
deafening  roar. 

It  was  strange  and  significant  at  that  moment 
to  see  Graves,  white-faced  and  sullen,  come  down 
the  stairs  and  pass  through  the  hall  and  out  of 
the  door.  It  was  as  if  discord,  selfishness,  and 
wavering  passed  out  with  him.  Arthurs  and  Ho- 
mans and  Ray  could  not  have  hoped  for  a  more 
striking  lesson  to  the  young  players. 

Dave,  the  colored  waiter,  appeared  in  the  door- 
way of  the  dining-room.  "Mr.  Arthurs,  I  done 
call  yo'  all.  Lunch  is  sho*  gittin'  cold." 

I4Q 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

That  afternoon  Wayne  played  the  strong  Hor- 
nell  University  nine. 

Blake,  new  at  third  base  for  Wayne,  was  a 
revelation.  He  was  all  legs  and  arms.  Weir  ac- 
cepted eight  chances.  Raymond,  sick  or  not,  was 
all  over  the  infield,  knocking  down  grounders, 
backing  up  every  play.  To  McCord,  balls  in  the 
air  or  at  his  feet  were  all  the  same.  Trace  caught 
a  foul  fly  right  off  the  bleachers.  Romans  fielded 
with  as  much  speed  as  the  old  varsity's  centre  and 
with  better  judgment.  Besides,  he  made  four  hits 
and  four  runs.  Reddy  Ray  drove  one  ball  into 
the  bleachers,  and  on  a  line-drive  to  left  field  he 
circled  the  bases  in  time  that  Murray  said  was 
wonderful.  Dean  stood  up  valiantly  to  his  bat- 
tering, and  for  the  first  game  had  no  passed  balls. 
And  Ken  Ward  whirled  tirelessly  in  the  box,  and 
one  after  another  he  shot  fast  balls  over  the  plate. 
He  made  the  Hornell  players  hit;  he  had  no  need 
to  extend  himself  to  the  use  of  the  long  swing 
and  whip  of  his  arm  that  produced  the  jump  ball; 
and  he  shut  them  out  without  a  run,  and  gave 
them  only  two  safe  hits.  All  through  the  game 
Worry  Arthurs  sat  on  the  bench  without  giving 
an  order  or  a  sign.  His  worried  look  had  vanished 
with  the  crude  playing  of  his  team. 

That  night  the  Hornell  captain,  a  veteran  player 
of  unquestionable  ability,  was  entertained  at  Carl- 
ton  Club  by  Wayne  friends,  and  he  expressed  him- 

150 


FRIENDSHIP 

self  forcibly:  "We  came  over  to  beat  Wayne's 
weak  team.  It  '11  be  some  time  till  we  discover 
what  happened.  Young  Ward  has  the  most  mag- 
nificent control  and  speed.  He's  absolutely  re- 
lentless. And  that  frog-legged  second-baseman — 
oh,  say,  can't  he  cover  ground!  Homans  is  an 
all-round  star.  Then,  your  red-headed  Ray,  the 
sprinter — he's  a  marvel.  Ward,  Homans,  Ray — 
they're  demons,  and  they're  making  demons  of  the 
kids.  I  can't  understand  why  Wayne  students 
don't  support  their  team.  It's  strange." 

What  the  Hornell  captain  said  went  from  lip 
to  lip  throughout  the  club,  and  then  it  spread,  like 
a  flame  in  wind-blown  grass,  from  club  to  dor- 
mitory, and  thus  over  all  the  university. 

"Boys,  the  college  is  wakin'  up,"  said  Worry, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "Yesterday's  game  jarred 
'em.  They  can't  believe  their  own  ears.  Why, 
Hornell  almost  beat  Dale's  team  last  spring.  Now, 
kids,  look  out.  We'll  stand  for  no  fussin'  over  us. 
We  don't  want  any  jollyin'.  We've  waited  long 
for  encouragement.  It  didn't  come,  and  now  we'll 
play  out  the  string  alone.  There  '11  be  a  rush  to 
Grant  Field.  It  cuts  no  ice  with  us.  Let  'em 
come  to  see  the  boys  they  hissed  and  guyed  early 
in  the  spring.  We'll  show  'em  a  few  things. 
We'll  make  'em  speechless.  We'll  make  'em  so 
ashamed  they  won't  know  what  to  do.  We'll  re- 
pay all  their  slights  by  beatin'  Place." 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Worry  was  as  excited  as  on  the  day  he  discovered 
that  Ken  was  a  pitcher. 

"One  more  word,  boys,"  he  went  on.  "Keep 
together  now.  Run  back  here  to  your  rooms  as 
quick  as  you  get  leave  from  college.  Be  civil 
when  you  are  approached  by  students,  but  don't 
mingle,  not  yet.  Keep  to  yourselves.  Your  re- 
ward is  comin'.  It'll  be  great.  Only  wait!" 

And  that  was  the  last  touch  of  fire  which 
moulded  Worry's  players  into  a  family  of  brothers. 
Close  and  warm  and  fine  was  the  culmination  of 
their  friendship.  On  the  field  they  were  domi- 
nated by  one  impulse,  almost  savage  in  its  in- 
tensity. When  they  were  off  the  field  the  springs 
of  youth  burst  forth  to  flood  the  hours  with 
fun. 

In  the  mornings  when  the  mail-man  came  there 
was  always  a  wild  scramble  for  letters.  And  it 
developed  that  Weir  received  more  than  his  share. 
He  got  mail  every  day,  and  his  good-fortune  could 
not  escape  the  lynx  eyes  of  his  comrades.  Nor 
could  the  size  and  shape  of  the  envelope  and  the 
neat,  small  handwriting  fail  to  be  noticed.  Weir 
always  stole  off  by  himself  to  read  his  daily  letter, 
trying  to  escape  a  merry  chorus  of  tantalizing 
remarks. 

"Oh!     Sugar!" 

"Dreamy  Eyes!" 

"Gawge,  the  pink  letter  has  come!" 
152 


FRIENDSHIP 

Weir's  reception  of  these  sallies  earned  him  the 
name  of  Puff. 

One  morning,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
Weir  did  not  get  down-stairs  when  the  mail  ar- 
rived. Duncan  got  the  pink  letter,  scrutinized 
the  writing  closely,  and  put  the  letter  in  his  coat. 
Presently  Weir  came  bustling  down. 

"  Who's  got  the  mail  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"No  letters  this  morning,"  replied  some  one. 

"Is  this  Sunday?"  asked  Weir,  rather  stupidly. 

"Nope.     I  meant  no  letters  for  you." 

Weir  looked  blank,  then  stunned,  then  crest- 
fallen. Duncan  handed  out  the  pink  envelope. 
The  boys  roared,  and  Weir  strode  off  in  high 
dudgeon. 

That  day  Duncan  purchased  a  box  of  pink  en- 
velopes, and  being  expert  with  a  pen,  he  imitated 
the  neat  handwriting  and  addressed  pink  en- 
velopes to  every  boy  in  the  training-house.  Next 
morning  no  one  except  Weir  seemed  in  a  hurry 
to  answer  the  postman's  ring.  He  came  in  with 
the  letters  and  his  jaw  dropping.  It  so  happened 
that  his  letter  was  the  very  last  one,  and  when  he 
got  to  it  the  truth  flashed  over  him.  Then  the 
peculiar  appropriateness  of  the  nickname  Puff 
was  plainly  manifest.  One  by  one  the  boys  slid 
off  their  chairs  to  the  floor,  and  at  last  Weir  had 
to  join  in  the  laugh  on  him. 

Each  of  the  boys  in  turn  became  the  victim  of 
153 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

some  prank.  Raymond  betrayed  Ken's  abhor- 
rence of  any  kind  of  perfume,  and  straightway 
there  was  a  stealthy  colloquy.  Cheap  perfume  of 
a  most  penetrating  and  paralyzing  odor  was  lib- 
erally purchased.  In  Ken's  absence  from  his 
room  all  the  clothing  that  he  did  not  have  on  his 
back  was  saturated.  Then  the  conspirators  wait- 
ed for  him  to  come  up  the  stoop,  and  from  their 
hiding-place  in  a  window  of  the  second  floor 
they  dropped  an  extra  quart  upon  him. 

Ken  vowed  vengeance  that  would  satisfy  him 
thrice  over,  and  he  bided  his  time  until  he  learned 
who  had  perpetrated  the  outrage. 

One  day  after  practice  his  opportunity  came. 
Raymond,  Weir,  and  Trace,  the  guilty  ones,  went 
with  Ken  to  the  training  quarters  to  take  the  steam 
bath  that  Murray  insisted  upon  at  least  once 
every  week.  It  so  turned  out  that  the  four  were 
the  only  players  there  that  afternoon.  While  the 
others  were  undressing,  Ken  bribed  Scotty  to  go 
out  on  an  errand,  and  he  let  Murray  into  his  scheme. 
Now,  Murray  not  only  had  acquired  a  strong  lik- 
ing for  Ken,  but  he  was  exceedingly  fond  of  a  joke. 

"All  I  want  to  know,"  whispered  Ken,  "is  if  I 
might  stew  them  too  much — really  scald  them, 
you  know  ?" 

"No  danger,"  whispered  Murray.  "That  '11  be 
the  fun  of  it.  You  can't  hurt  them.  But  they'll 
think  they're  dying." 

154 


FRIENDSHIP 

He  hustled  Raymond,  Weir,  and  Trace  into  the 
tanks  and  fastened  the  lids,  and  carefully  tucked 
towels  round  their  necks  to  keep  in  the  steam. 

"Lots  of  stew  to-day,"  he  said,  turning  the 
handles.  "Hello!  Where's  Scotty  ?  .  .  .  Peg,  will 
you  watch  these  boys  a  minute  while  I  step  out  ?" 

"You  bet  I  will,"  called  Ken  to  the  already 
disappearing  Murray. 

The  three  cooped-in  boys  looked  askance  at 
Ken. 

"Wull,  I'm  not  much  stuck — "  Raymond  be- 
gan glibly  enough,  and  then,  becoming  conscious 
that  he  might  betray  an  opportunity  to  Ken,  he 
swallowed  his  tongue. 

"What'd  you  say?"  asked  Ken,  pretending  curi- 
osity. Suddenly  he  began  to  jump  up  and  down. 
"Oh,  my!  Hullabelee!  Schoodoorady!  What  a 
chance!  You  gave  it  away!" 

"Look  what  he's  doing!"  yelled  Trace. 

"Hyar!"  added  Weir. 

"Keep  away  from  those  pipes!"  chimed  in  Ray- 
mond. 

"Boys,  I've  been  laying  for  you,  but  I  never 
thought  I'd  get  a  chance  like  this.  If  Murray  only 
stays  out  three  minutes — just  three  minutes!" 

"Three  minutes!  You  idiot,  you  won't  keep  us 
in  here  that  long  ?"  asked  Weir,  in  alarm. 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all.  .  .  .  Puff,  I  think  you  can 
stand  a  little  more  steam." 
11  155 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Ken  turned  the  handle  on  full. 

"Kel,  a  first-rate  stewing  will  be  good  for  your 
daily  grouch." 

To  the  accompaniment  of  Raymond's  threats 
he  turned  the  second  handle. 

"Trace,  you  little  poll -parrot,  you  will  throw 
perfume  on  me  ?  Now  roast!" 

The  heads  of  the  imprisoned  boys  began  to  jerk 
and  bob  around,  and  their  faces  to  take  on  a  flush. 
Ken  leisurely  surveyed  them  and  then  did  an 
Indian  war-dance  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Here,  let  me  out!  Ken,  you  know  how  delicate 
I  am,"  implored  Raymond. 

"I  couldn't  entertain  the  idea  for  a  second,'* 
replied  Ken. 

"I'll  lick  you!"  yelled  Raymond. 

"My  lad,  you've  got  a  brain-storm,"  returned 
Ken,  in  grieved  tones.  "Not  in  the  wildest  flights 
of  your  nightmares  have  you  ever  said  anything 
so  impossible  as  that." 

"  Ken,  dear  Ken,  dear  old  Peggie,"  cried  Trace, 
"you  know  I've  got  a  skinned  place  on  my  hip 
where  I  slid  yesterday.  Steam  isn't  good  for  that, 
Worry  says.  He'll  be  sore.  You  must  let  me 
out." 

"I  intend  to  see,  Willie,  that  you'll  be  sore  too, 
and  skinned  all  over,"  replied  Ken. 

"Open  this  lid!  At  once!"  roared  Weir,  in  sud- 
den anger.  His  big  eyes  rolled. 

156 


FRIENDSHIP 

"Bah!"  taunted  Ken. 

Then  all  three  began  to  roar  at  Ken  at  once. 
"Brute!  Devil!  Help!  Help!  Help!  We'll  fix 
you  for  this!  .  .  .  It's  hotter!  it's  fire!  Aghh! 
Ouch!  Oh!  Ah-h-h!  .  .  .  O-o-o-o!  .  .  .  MURDER! 
MURDER-R!" 

At  this  juncture  Murray  ran  in. 

"  What  on  earth !     Peg,  what  did  you  do  ?" 

"I  only  turned  on  the  «team  full  tilt,"  replied 
Ken,  innocently. 

"Why,  you  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  said 
Murray,  in  pained  astonishment. 

"Stop  talking  about  it!  Let  me  out!"  shrieked 
Raymond. 

Ken  discreetly  put  on  his  coat  and  ran  from  the 
room. 


XIV 

THE    HERNE   GAME 

ON  the  morning  of  the  first  of  June,  the  day 
scheduled  for  the  opening  game  with  Herne, 
Worry  Arthurs  had  Ken  Ward  closeted  with 
Homans  and  Reddy  Ray.  Worry  was  trying  his 
best  to  be  soberly  calculating  in  regard  to  the  out- 
come of  the  game.  He  was  always  trying  to  im- 
press Ken  with  the  uncertainty  of  baseball.  But 
a  much  younger  and  less  observing  boy  than  Ken 
could  have  seen  through  the  coach.  Worry  was 
dead  sure  of  the  result,  certain  that  the  day  would 
see  a  great  gathering  of  Wayne  students,  and  he 
could  not  hide  his  happiness.  And  the  more  he 
betrayed  himself  the  more  he  growled  at  Ken. 

"Well,  we  ain't  goin'  to  have  that  balloon- 
ascension  to-day,  are  we?"  he  demanded.  "Here 
we've  got  down  to  the  big  games,  and  you  haven't 
been  up  in  the  air  yet.  I  tell  you  it  ain't  right." 

"  But,  Worry,  I  couldn't  go  off  my  head  and  get 
rattled  just  to  please  you,  could  I  ?"  implored 
Ken.  To  Ken  this  strain  of  the  coach's  had 
grown  to  be  as  serious  as  it  was  funny. 

158 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

"Aw!  talk  sense,"  said  Worry.  "Why,  you 
haven't  pitched  to  a  college  crowd  yet.  Wait! 
Wait  till  you  see  that  crowd  over  to  Place  next 
week!  Thousands  of  students  crazier  'n  Indians, 
and  a  flock  of  girls  that'll  make  you  bite  your 
tongue  off.  Ten  thousand  yellin'  all  at  once." 

"Let  them  yell,"  replied  Ken;  "I'm  aching  to 
pitch  before  a  crowd.  It  has  been  pretty  lone- 
some at  Grant  Field  all  season." 

"  Let  'em  yell,  eh  ?"  retorted  Worry.  "  All  right, 
my  boy,  it's  comin'  to  you.  And  if  you  lose  your 
nut  and  get  slammed  all  over  the  lot,  don't  come 
to  me  for  sympathy." 

"I  wouldn't.  I  can  take  a  licking.  Why, 
Worry,  you  talk  as  if — as  if  I'd  done  something 
terrible.  What's  the  matter  with  me  ?  I've  done 
every  single  thing  you  wanted — just  as  well  as 
I  could  do  it.  What  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"You're  gettin'  swelled  on  yourself,"  said  the 
coach,  deliberately. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Ken's  face  until  it  was 
scarlet.  He  was  so  astounded  and  hurt  that  he 
could  not  speak.  Worry  looked  at  him  once,  then 
turning  hastily  away,  he  walked  to  the  window. 

"Peg,  it  ain't  much  wonder,"  he  went  on, 
smoothly,  "and  I'm  not  holdin'  it  against  you. 
But  I  want  you  to  forget  yourself — " 

"  I've  never  had  a  thought  of  myself,"  retorted 
Ken,  hotly. 

159 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"I  want  you  to  go  in  to-day  like — like  an  auto- 
matic machine,"  went  on  Worry,  as  if  Ken  had 
not  spoken.  "There'll  be  a  crowd  out,  the  first 
of  the  season.  Mebbe  they'll  throw  a  fit.  Any- 
way, it's  our  first  big  game.  As  far  as  the  uni- 
versity goes,  this  is  our  trial.  The  students  are 
up  in  the  air;  they  don't  know  what  to  think. 
Mebbe  there  won't  be  a  cheer  at  first.  .  .  .  But, 
Peg,  if  we  beat  Herne  to-day  they'll  tear  down 
the  bleachers." 

"Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  you  can  order 
new  lumber  for  the  bleachers — because  we're 
going  to  win,"  replied  Ken,  with  a  smouldering 
fire  in  his  eyes. 

"There  you  go  again!  If  you're  not  stuck  on 
yourself,  it's  too  much  confidence.  You  won't  be 
so  chipper  about  three  this  afternoon,  mebbe. 
Listen!  The  Herne  players  got  into  town  last 
night,  and  some  of  them  talked  a  little.  It's  just 
as  well  you  didn't  see  the  morning  papers.  It 
came  to  me  straight  that  Gallagher,  the  captain, 
and  Stern,  the  first-baseman,  said  you  were  pretty 
good  for  a  kid  freshman,  but  a  little  too  swelled  to 
stand  the  gaff  in  a  big  game.  They  expect  you 
to  explode  before  the  third  innin'.  I  wasn't  goin* 
to  tell  you,  Peg,  but  you're  so — " 

"They  said  that,  did  they?"  cried  Ken.  He 
jumped  up  with  paling  cheek  and  blazing  eye, 
and  the  big  hand  he  shoved  under  Worry's  nose 

160 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

trembled  like  a  shaking  leaf.  "What  I  won't  do 
to  them  will  be  funny!  Swelled!  Explode!  Stand 
the  gaff!  Look  here,  Worry,  maybe  it's  true,  but 
I  don't  believe  it.  ...  I'll  beat  this  Herne  team! 
Do  you  get  that  ?" 

"Now  you're  talkin',"  replied  Worry,  with  an 
entire  change  of  manner.  "You  saw  the  Herne 
bunch  play.  They  can  field,  but  how  about 
hittin'  ?" 

"Gallagher,  Stern,  Hill,  and  Burr  are  the  vet- 
erans of  last  year's  varsity,"  went  on  Ken,  rapidly, 
as  one  who  knew  his  subject.  "They  can  hit — 
if  they  get  what  they  like." 

"Now  you're  talkin'.     How  about  Gallagher?" 

"He  hits  speed.  He  couldn't  hit  a  slow  ball 
with  a  paddle." 

"Now  you're  talkin'.  There's  Stern,  howM 
you  size  him  ?" 

"  He's  weak  on  a  low  curve,  in  or  out,  or  a  drop." 

"  Peg,  you're  talkin'  some  now.  How  about 
Hill?" 

"  Hill  is  a  bunter.  A  high  ball  in  close,  speedy, 
would  tie  him  in  a  knot." 

"Come  on,  hurry!    There's  Burr." 

"  Burr's  the  best  of  the  lot,  a  good  waiter  and 
hard  hitter,  but  he  invariably  hits  a  high  curve  up 
in  the  air." 

"All  right.  So  far  so  good.  How  about  the 
rest  of  the  team  ?" 

161 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"I'll  hand  them  up  a  straight,  easy  ball  and  let 
them  hit.  I  tell  you  I've  got  Herne  beaten,  and 
if  Gallagher  or  any  one  else  begins  to  guy  me  I'll 
laugh  in  his  face." 

"Oh,  you  will?  .  .  .  Say,  you  go  down  to  your 
room  now,  and  stay  there  till  time  for  lunch. 
Study  or  read.  Don't  think  another  minute  about 
this  game." 

Ken  strode  soberly  out  of  the  room. 

It  was  well  for  Ken  that  he  did  not  see  what 
happened  immediately  after  his  exit.  Worry  and 
Homans  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

"Say,  fellows,  how  I  hated  to  do  it!"  Worry 
choked  with  laughter  and  contrition.  "  It  was  the 
hardest  task  I  ever  had.  But,  Cap,  you  know  we 
had  to  make  Peg  sore.  He's  too  blamed  good- 
natured.  Oh,  but  didn't  he  take  fire!  He'll  make 
some  of  those  Herne  guys  play  low-bridge  to-day. 
Wouldn't  it  be  great  if  he  gave  Gallagher  the 
laugh  ?" 

"Worry,  don't  you  worry  about  that,"  said 
Homans.  "And  it  would  please  me,  too,  for 
Gallagher  is  about  as  wordy  and  pompous  as  any 
captain  I've  seen." 

"  I  think  you  were  a  little  hard  on  Ken,"  put  in 
Reddy.  His  quiet  voice  drew  Worry  and  Homans 
from  their  elation.  "Of  course,  it  was  necessary 
to  rouse  Ken's  fighting  blood,  but  you  didn't 
choose  the  right  way.  You  hurt  his  feelings.  You 

162 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

know,  Worry,  that  the  boy  is  not  in  the  least 
swelled." 

"  'Course  I  know  it,  Reddy.  Why,  Peg's  too 
modest.  But  I  want  him  to  be  dead  in  earnest 
to-day.  Mind  you,  I'm  thinkin'  of  Place.  He'll 
beat  Herne  to  a  standstill.  I  worked  on  his  feelin's 
just  to  get  him  all  stirred  up.  You  know  there's 
always  the  chance  of  rattles  in  any  young  player, 
especially  a  pitcher.  If  he's  mad  he  won't  be  so 
likely  to  get  'em.  So  I  hurt  his  feelin's.  I'll 
make  it  up  to  him,  don't  you  fear  for  that,  Reddy." 

"I  wish  you  had  waited  till  we  go  over  to  Place 
next  week,"  replied  Ray.  "You  can't  treat  him 
that  way  twice.  Over  there's  where  I  would  look 
for  his  weakening.  But  it  may  be  he  won't  ever 
weaken.  If  he  ever  does  it  '11  be  because  of  the 
crowd  and  not  the  players." 

"I  think  so,  too.  A  yellin'  mob  will  be  new  to 
Peg.  But,  fellows,  I'm  only  askin'  one  game  from 
Herne  and  one,  or  a  good  close  game,  from  Place. 
That  '11  give  Wayne  the  best  record  ever  made. 
Look  at  our  standin'  now.  Why,  the  newspapers 
are  havin'  a  fit.  Since  I  picked  the  varsity  we 
haven't  lost  a  game.  Think  of  that!  Those  early 
games  don't  count.  We've  had  an  unbroken  string 
of  victories,  Peg  pitchin'  twelve,  and  Schoonover 
four.  And  if  wet  grounds  "and  other  things  hadn't 
cancelled  other  games  we'd  have  won  more." 

"Yes,  we're  in  the  stretch  now,  Worry,  and 
163 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

running  strong.  We'll  win  three  out  of  these  four 
big  games/'  rejoined  Reddy. 

"Oh,  say,  that'd  be  too  much!  I  couldn't  stand 
it!  Oh,  say,  Cap,  don't  you  think  Reddy,  for 
once,  is  talkin'  about  as  swift  as  he  sprints  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  to  tell  you,  Worry,"  replied  Ho- 
mans,  earnestly.  "When  I  look  back  at  our 
work  I  can't  realize  it.  But  it's  time  to  wake  up. 
The  students  over  at  college  are  waking  up. 
They  will  be  out  to-day.  You  are  the  one  to 
judge  whether  we're  a  great  team  or  not.  We 
keep  on  making  runs.  It's  runs  that  count.  I 
think,  honestly,  Worry,  that  after  to-day  we'll  be 
in  the  lead  for  championship  honors.  And  I  hold 
my  breath  when  I  tell  you." 

It  was*  remarkably  quiet  about  the  training- 
house  all  that  morning.  The  coach  sent  a  light 
lunch  to  the  boys  in  their  rooms.  They  had 
orders  to  be  dressed,  and  to  report  in  the  reading- 
room  at  one-thirty. 

Raymond  came  down  promptly  on  time. 

"Where's  Peg?"  asked  Worry. 

"Why,  I  thought  he  was  here,  ahead  of  me," 
replied  Raymond,  in  surprise. 

A  quick  survey  of  the  uniformed  players  proved 
the  absence  of  Ken  Ward  and  Reddy  Ray.  Worry 
appeared  startled  out  of  speech,  and  looked  help- 
lessly at  Homans.  Then  Ray  came  down-stairs, 
bat  in  one  hand,  shoes  and  glove  in  the  other.  He 

164 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

seated  himself  upon  the  last  step  and  leisurely 
proceeded  to  put  on  his  shoes. 

"  Reddy,  did  you  see  Peg  ?"  asked  Worry, 
anxiously. 

"Sure,  I  saw  him,"  replied  the  sprinter. 

"Well?"  growled  the  coach.  "Where  is  he? 
Sulkin'  because  I  called  him  ?" 

"Not  so  you'd  notice  it,"  answered  Reddy,  in 
his  slow,  careless  manner.  "I  just  woke  him 
up." 

"What!"  yelled  Arthurs. 

"  Peg  came  to  my  room  after  lunch  and  went  to 
sleep.  I  woke  him  just  now.  He'll  be  down  in 
a  minute." 

Worry  evidently  could  not  reply  at  the  moment, 
but  he  began  to  beam. 

"  What  would  Gallagher  say  to  that  ?"  asked 
Captain  Romans,  with  a  smile.  "Wayne's  var- 
sity pitcher  asleep  before  a  Herne  game!  Oh  no, 
I  guess  that's  not  pretty  good!  Worry,  could  you 
ask  any  more  ?" 

"Cap,  I'll  never  open  my  face  to  him  again," 
blurted  out  the  coach. 

Ken  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  had 
started  down,  when  the  door-bell  rang.  Worry 
opened  the  door  to  admit  Murray,  the  trainer; 
Dale,  the  old  varsity  captain,  and  the  magnificently 
built  Stevens,  guard  and  captain  of  the  football 
team. 

165 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"Hello!  Worry,"  called  out  Murray,  cheerily. 
"How 're  the  kids  ?  Boys,  you  look  good  to  me. 
Trim  and  fit,  and  all  cool  and  quiet-like.  Reddy, 
be  careful  of  your  ankles  and  legs  to-day.  After 
the  meet  next  week  you  can  cut  loose  and  run 
bases  like  a  blue  streak." 

Dale  stepped  forward,  earnest  and  somewhat 
concerned,  but  with  a  winning  frankness. 

"Worry,  will  you  let  Stevens  and  me  sit  on  the 
bench  with  the  boys  to-day  ?" 

Worry's  face  took  on  the  color  of  a  thunder-cloud. 
"  I'm  not  the  captain,"  he  replied.  "Ask  Homans." 

"How  about  it,  Roy?"  queried  Dale. 

Homans  was  visibly  affected  by  surprise,  pleas- 
ure, and  something  more.  While  he  hesitated, 
perhaps  not  trusting  himself  to  reply  quickly, 
Stevens  took  a  giant  stride  to  the  fore. 

"Homans,  we've  got  a  hunch  that  Wayne's 
going  to  win,"  he  said,  in  a  deep-bass  voice.  "A 
few  of  us  have  been  tipped  off,  and  we  got  it 
straight.  But  the  students  don't  know  it  yet. 
So  Dale  and  I  thought  we'd  like  them  to  see  how 
we  feel  about  it — before  this  game.  You've  had 
a  rotten  deal  from  the  students  this  year.  But 
they'll  more  than  make  it  up  when  you  beat  Herne. 
The  whole  college  is  waiting  and  restless." 

Homans,  recovering  himself,  faced  the  two 
captains  courteously  and  gratefully,  and  with  a 
certain  cool  dignity. 

166 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

"Thank  you,  fellows!  It's  fine  of  you  to  offer 
to  sit  with  us  on  the  bench.  I  thank  you  on  be- 
half of  the  varsity.  But — not  to-day.  All  season 
we've  worked  and  fought  without  support,  and 
now  we're  going  to  beat  Herne  without  support. 
When  we've  done  that  you  and  Dale — all  the  col- 
lege— can't  come  too  quick  to  suit  us." 

"I  think  I'd  say  the  same  thing,  if  I  were  in 
your  place,"  said  Dale.  "And  I'll  tell  you  right 
here  that  when  I  was  captain  I  never  plugged  any 
harder  to  win  than  I'll  plug  to-day." 

Then  these  two  famous  captains  of  champion- 
ship teams  turned  to  Homans'  players  and  eyed 
them  keenly,  their  faces  working,  hands  clenched, 
their  powerful  frames  vibrating  with  the  feeling 
of  the  moment.  That  moment  was  silent,  elo- 
quent. It  linked  Homans'  team  to  the  great 
athletic  fame  of  the  university.  It  radiated  the 
spirit  to  conquer,  the  glory  of  past  victories,  the 
strength  of  honorable  defeats.  Then  Dale  and 
Stevens  went  out,  leaving  behind  them  a  charged 
atmosphere. 

"I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say,"  announced  Worry 
to  the  players. 

"And  I've  very  little,"  added  Captain  Homans. 
"We're  all  on  edge,  and  being  drawn  down  so 
fine  we  may  be  over-eager.  Force  that  back.  It 
doesn't  matter  if  we  make  misplays.  We've  made 
many  this  season,  but  we've  won  all  the  same. 

167 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

At  the  bat,  remember  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the 
base-runner,  and  when  he  signs  he  is  going  down, 
bunt  or  hit  to  advance  him.  That's  all." 

Ken  Ward  walked  to  the  field  between  Worry 
Arthurs  and  Reddy  Ray.  Worry  had  no  word  to 
say,  but  he  kept  a  tight  grip  on  Ken's  arm. 

"Peg,  I've  won  many  a  sprint  by  not  under- 
estimating my  opponent,"  said  Reddy,  quietly. 
"Now  you  go  at  Herne  for  all  you're  worth  from 
the  start." 

When  they  entered  the  field  there  were  more 
spectators  in  the  stands  than  had  attended  all  the 
other  games  together.  In  a  far  corner  the  Herne 
players  in  dark-blue  uniforms  were  practising 
batting.  Upon  the  moment  the  gong  called  them 
in  for  their  turn  at  field  practice.  The  Wayne 
team  batted  and  bunted  a  few  balls,  and  then 
Homans  led  them  to  the  bench. 

Upon  near  view  the  grand-stand  and  bleachers 
seemed  a  strange  sight  to  Ken  Ward.  He  took 
one  long  look  at  the  black-and-white  mass  of  stu- 
dents behind  the  back-stop,  at  the  straggling  lines 
leading  to  the  gates,  at  the  rapidly  filling  rows  to 
right  and  left,  and  then  he  looked  no  more.  Al- 
ready an  immense  crowd  was  present.  Still  it 
was  not  a  typical  college  baseball  audience.  Ken 
realized  that  at  once.  It  was  quiet,  orderly,  ex- 
pectant, and  watchful.  Very  few  girls  were  there. 
The  students  as  a  body  had  warmed  to  curiosity 

168 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

and  interest,  but  not  to  the  extent  of  bringing  the 
girls.  After  that  one  glance  Ken  resolutely  kept 
his  eyes  upon  the  ground.  He  was  conscious  of 
a  feeling  that  he  wanted  to  spring  up  and  leap  at 
something.  And  he  brought  all  his  will  to  force 
back  his  over-eagerness.  He  heard  the  crack  of 
the  ball,  the  shouts  of  the  Herne  players,  the  hum  of 
voices  in  the  grand-stand,  and  the  occasional  cheers 
of  Herne  rooters.  There  were  no  Wayne  cheers. 

"Warm  up  a  little,"  said  Worry,  in  his  ear. 

Ken  peeled  off  his  sweater  and  walked  out  with 
Dean.  A  long  murmur  ran  throughout  the  stands. 
Ken  heard  many  things  said  of  him,  curiously, 
wonderingly,  doubtfully,  and  he  tried  not  to  hear 
more.  Then  he  commenced  to  pitch  to  Dean. 
Worry  stood  near  him  and  kept  whispering  to  hold 
in  his  speed  and  just  to  use  his  arm  easily.  It 
was  difficult,  for  Ken  felt  that  his  arm  wanted  to 
be  cracked  like  a  buggy-whip. 

"That  '11  do,"  whispered  Worry.  "We're  only 
takin'  five  minutes'  practice.  .  .  .  Say,  but  there's  a 
crowd !  Are  you  all  right,  Peg  — cool-like  and  de- 
termined ? .  .  .  Good!  Say — but  Peg,  you'd  better 
look  these  fellows  over." 

"I  remember  them  all,"  replied  Ken.  "That's 
Gallagher  on  the  end  of  the  bench;  Burr  is  third 
from  him;  Stern's  fussing  over  the  bats,  and 
there's  Hill,  the  light-headed  fellow,  looking  this 
way.  There's — " 

169 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"That'll  do,"  said  Worry.  "There  goes  the 
gong.  It's  all  off  now.  Homans  has  chosen  to 
take  the  field.  I  guess  mebbe  you  won't  show  'em 
how  to  pitch  a  new  white  hall!  Get  at  'em  now!" 
Then  he  called  Ken  back  as  if  impelled,  and  whis- 
pered to  him  in  a  husky  voice:  "It's  been  tough 
for  you  and  for  me.  Listen!  Here's  where  it  be- 
gins to  be  sweet." 

Ken  trotted  out  to  the  box,  to  the  encouraging 
voices  of  the  infield,  and  he  even  caught  Reddy 
Ray's  low,  thrilling  call  from  the  far  outfield. 

"Play!"  With  the  ringing  order,  which  quieted 
the  audience,  the  umpire  tossed  a  white  ball  to 
Ken. 

For  a  single  instant  Ken  trembled  ever  so  slight- 
ly in  all  his  limbs,  and  the  stands  seemed  a  re- 
volving black-and-white  band.  Then  the  emotion 
was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  He  stepped  upon  the 
slab,  keen-sighted,  cool,  and  with  his  pitching 
game  outlined  in  his  mind. 

Burr,  the  curly-haired  leader  of  Herne's  batting 
list,  took  his  position  to  the  left  of  the  plate.  Ken 
threw  him  an  underhand  curve,  sweeping  high 
and  over  the  inside  corner.  Burr  hit  a  lofty  fly 
to  Homans.  Hill,  the  hunter,  was  next.  For  him 
Ken  shot  one  straight  over  the  plate.  Hill  let  it 
go  by,  and  it  was  a  strike.  Ken  put  another  in 
the  same  place,  and  Hill,  attempting  to  bunt, 
fouled  a  little  fly,  which  Dean  caught.  Gallagher 

170 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

strode  third  to  bat.  He  used  a  heavy  club,  stood 
right-handed  over  the  plate,  and  looked  aggres- 
sive. Ken  gave  the  captain  a  long  study  and  then 
swung  slowly,  sending  up  a  ball  that  floated  like 
a  feather.  Gallagher  missed  it.  On  the  second 
pitch  he  swung  heavily  at  a  slow  curve  far  off  the 
outside.  For  a  third  Ken  tried  the  speedy  drop, 
and  the  captain,  letting  it  go,  was  out  on  strikes. 

The  sides  changed.  Worry  threw  a  sweater 
around  Ken. 

"The  ice  's  broke,  Peg,  and  you've  got  your  con- 
trol. That  settles  it." 

Homans  went  up,  to  a  wavering  ripple  of  ap- 
plause. He  drew  two  balls  and  then  a  strike  from 
Murphy,  and  hit  the  next  hard  into  short  field. 
Frick  fumbled  the  ball,  recovered  it,  and  threw 
beautifully,  but  too  late  to  catch  Homans.  Ray- 
mond sacrificed,  sending  his  captain  to  second. 
Murphy  could  not  locate  the  plate  for  Reddy  Ray 
and  let  him  get  to  first  on  four  balls.  Weir  came 
next.  Homans  signed  he  was  going  to  run  on 
the  first  pitch.  Weir,  hitting  with  the  runner,  sent 
a  double  into  right  field,  and  Homans  and  Ray 
scored.  The  bleachers  cheered.  Homans  ran 
down  to  third  base  to  the  coaching  lines,  and 
Ray  went  to  first  base.  Both  began  to  coach  the 
runner.  Dean  hit  into  short  field,  and  was  thrown 
out,  while  Weir  reached  third  on  the  play. 

"Two  out,  now!  Hit!"  yelled  Homans  to  Blake. 
12  171 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Blake  hit  safely  over  second,  scoring  Weir. 
Then  Trace  flied  out  to  left  field. 

"Three  runs!"  called  Homans.  "Boys,  that's 
a  start!  Three  more  runs  and  this  game's  ours! 
Now,  Peg,  now!" 

Ken  did  not  need  that  trenchant  thrilling  now. 
The  look  in  Worry's  eyes  had  been  enough.  He 
threw  speed  to  Halloway,  and  on  the  third  ball 
retired  him,  Raymond  to  McCord.  Stern  came 
second  to  bat.  In  Ken's  mind  this  player  was 
recorded  with  a  weakness  on  low  curves.  And 
Ken  found  it  with  two  balls  pitched.  Stern  popped 
up  to  Blake.  Frick,  a  new  player  to  Ken,  let  a 
strike  go  by,  and  missed  a  drop  and  a  fast  ball. 

"They  can't  touch  you,  Ken,"  called  Raymond, 
as  he  tossed  aside  his  glove. 

Faint  cheers  rose  from  scattered  parts  of  the 
grand-stand,  and  here  and  there  shouts  and  yells. 
The  audience  appeared  to  stir,  to  become  ani- 
mated, and  the  Herne  players  settled  down  to 
more  sober  action  on  the  field. 

McCord  made  a  bid  for  a  hit,  but  failed  because 
of  fast  work  by  Stern.  Ken  went  up,  eager  to  get 
to  first  in  any  way.  He  let  Murphy  pitch,  and  at 
last,  after  fouling  several  good  ones,  he  earned  his 
base  on  balls.  Once  there,  he  gave  Homans  the 
sign  that  he  would  run  on  the  first  pitch,  and  he 
got  a  fair  start.  He  heard  the  crack  of  the  ball 
and  saw  it  glinting  between  short  and  third. 

172 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

Running  hard,  he  beat  the  throw-in  to  third.  With 
two  runners  on  bases,  Raymond  hit  to  deep  short. 
Ken  went  out  trying  to  reach  home.  Again  Reddy 
Ray  came  up  and  got  a  base  on  balls,  filling  the 
bases.  The  crowd  began  to  show  excitement, 
and  seemed  to  be  stifling  cheers  in  suspense.  Weir 
hurried  to  bat,  his  shock  of  hair  waving  at  every 
step.  He  swung  hard  on  the  first  ball,  and,  miss- 
ing it,  whirled  down,  bothering  the  catcher. 
Homans  raced  home  on  a  half-passed  ball.  Then 
Weir  went  out  on  a  fly  to  centre. 

"Peg,  keep  at  them!"  called  Reddy  Ray. 
"We've  got  Murphy's  measure." 

It  cost  Ken  an  effort  to  deliberate  in  the  box,  to 
think  before  he  pitched.  He  had  to  fight  his 
eagerness.  But  he  wasted  few  balls,  and  struck 
Mercer  out.  Van  Sant  hit  to  Weir,  who  threw 
wild  to  first,  allowing  the  runner  to  reach  third. 
Murphy,  batting  next,  hit  one  which  Ken  put 
straight  over  the  plate,  and  it  went  safe  through 
second,  scoring  Van  Sant.  The  Herne  rooters 
broke  out  in  loud  acclaim.  Burr  came  up,  chok- 
ing his  bat  up  short.  Again  Ken  gave  him  the 
high,  wide  curve.  He  let  it  pass  and  the  umpire 
called  it  a  strike.  Ken  threw  another,  a  little 
outside  this  time.  Evidently  Burr  was  trying  out 
Ken's  control. 

"He  can't  put  them  over!"  yelled  Gallagher, 
from  the  coaching  line.  "Here's  where  he  goes 

173 


THE   YOUNG    PITCHER 

up!  Wait  him  out,  Burr.  Good  eye,  old  man! 
Here's  where  we  explode  the  freshman!" 

Ken  glanced  at  Gallagher  and  laughed.  Then 
he  sped  up  another  high  curve,  which  the  umpire 
called  a  strike. 

"That's  the  place,  Peg!  Put  another  there!" 
floated  from  Reddy  in  the  outfield. 

Burr  swung  viciously,  hitting  a  bounder  toward 
second  base.  Raymond  darted  over,  went  down 
with  his  bird-like  quickness,  came  up  with  the 
ball,  and  then  he  touched  the  bag  and  threw  to 
first.  It  was  a  play  in  which  he  excelled.  The 
umpire  called  both  runners  out,  retiring  the  side. 
A  short,  sharp  yell,  like  a  bark,  burst  from  the 
bleachers. 

Worry  was  smilingly  thoughtful  as  his  boys 
trotted  in  to  bat. 

"Say,  if  you  get  a  couple  of  runs  this  time  we'll 
be  It.  Look  at  the  students.  Ready  to  fall  out 
of  the  stands.  .  .  .  Peg,  I'm  glad  Herne  got  a  run. 
Now  we  won't  think  of  a  shut-out.  That'll  steady 
us  up.  And,  boys,  break  loose  now,  for  the  game's 
ours." 

Dean  started  ofF  with  a  clean  single.  On  the 
first  pitch  he  broke  for  second,  and  had  to  slide 
to  make  it,  as  Blake  missed  the  strike.  Then 
Blake  went  out  to  first.  Trace  walked.  McCord 
poked  a  little  fly  over  the  infield,  scoring  Dean. 
Ken  fouled  out.  The  unerring  Homans  again  hit 

174 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

safely,  sending  Trace  in.  With  two  out  and 
McCord  on  third  and  Homans  on  second,  Ray- 
mond laid  down  a  beautiful  bunt,  tallying  McCord. 
And  when  the  Herne  catcher  tried  to  head  Homans 
from  making  third  Raymond  kept  on  toward 
second.  It  was  a  daring  dash,  and  he  dove  to 
the  bag  with  a  long  slide,  but  the  decision  was 
against  him. 

The  coach  called  Homans,  Ward,  and  Ray  to 
him  and  gathered  them  close  together. 

"  Boys,  listen !"  he  said,  low  and  tense.  "MacNeff 
and  Prince,  of  Place,  are  in  the  grand-stand  just 
behind  the  plate.  They're  up  there  to  get  a  line 
on  Peg.  We'll  fool  'em,  and  make  'em  sick  in  the 
bargain.  Peg,  you  let  out  this  innin*  and  show 
up  the  first  three  hitters.  Then  I'll  take  you  out 
and  let  Schoonover  finish  the  game.  See  ?" 

"Take  me— out?"  echoed  Ken. 

"That's  it,  if  you  make  these  next  three  hitters 
look  like  monkeys.  Don't  you  see  ?  We've  got 
the  Herne  game  cinched.  We  don't  need  to  use 
our  star  twirler.  See  ?  That  '11  be  a  bone  for 
Place  to  chew  on.  How  about  it,  Cap  ?  What 
do  you  think,  Reddy  ?" 

"Oh,  Worry,  if  we  dared  to  do  it!"  Homans  ex- 
claimed, under  his  breath.  "Herne  would  never 
get  over  it.  And  it  would  scare  Place  to  death. 
.  .  .  But,  Worry,  Reddy,  dare  we  risk  it  ?" 

"It's  playin'  into  our  very  hands,"  replied 
175 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Worry.    His  hazel  eyes  were  afire  with  inspira- 
tion. 

Reddy  Ray's  lean  jaw  bulged. 

"Homans,  it's  the  trick,  and  we  can  turn  it." 

"What's  the  score — 7  to  I  ?"  muttered  Homans. 
It  was  a  tight  place  for  him,  and  he  seemed  tor- 
tured between  ambition  and  doubt. 

"That  fellow  Murphy  hasn't  got  one  in  my 
groove  yet,"  said  Reddy.  "I'm  due  to  lace  one. 
We're  good  for  more  runs." 

That  decided  Homans.  He  patted  Ken  on  the 
shoulder  and  led  him  out  to  the  box,  but  he  never 
spoke  a  word. 

Ken  felt  like  a  wild  colt  just  let  loose.  He 
faced  Hill  with  a  smile,  and  then,  taking  his  long, 
overhand  swing,  he  delivered  the  jump  ball.  Hill 
made  no  move.  The  umpire  called  strike.  The 
crowd  roared.  Ken  duplicated  the  feat.  Then 
Hill  missed  the  third  strike.  Gallagher  walked 
up  doggedly,  and  Ken  smiled  at  him,  too.  Then 
using  three  wicked,  darting  drops,  Ken  struck 
Gallagher  out. 

"That's  twice!"  called  Reddy's  penetrating 
voice  from  the  outfield.  "Give  him  a  paddle!" 

Halloway  drew  two  balls  and  then  three  strikes. 

Ken  ran  for  the  bench  amid  an  uproar  most 
strange  and  startling  to  his  untried  ear.  The  long, 
tardy,  and  stubborn  students  had  broken  their 
silence. 

176 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

Dale  leaped  out  of  the  grand-stand  to  lead  the 
cheering.  The  giant  Stevens  came  piling  out  of 
the  bleachers  to  perform  a  like  office.  And  then 
they  were  followed  by  Bryan,  captain  of  the  crew, 
and  Hilbrandt,  captain  of  the  track  team.  Four 
captains  of  Wayne  teams  inspiriting  and  directing 
the  cheering!  Ken's  bewildered  ears  drank  in  one 
long,  thundering  "Ward!  Ward  I  Ward!"  and 
then  his  hearing  seemed  drowned.  The  whole 
mass  of  students  and  spectators  rose  as  one,  and 
the  deafening  stamp  of  feet  only  equalled  the  roar 
of  voices.  But  now  the  volume  of  sound  was 
regular  and  rhythmic.  It  was  like  the  approach 
of  a  terrible  army.  For  minutes,  while  the  um- 
pire held  play  suspended,  the  Wayne  supporters 
in  hoarse  and  stamping  tumult  came  into  their 
own  again.  It  was  a  wild  burst  of  applause, 
and  as  it  had  been  long  delayed,  so  now  it 
was  prolonged  fiercely  to  the  limit  of  endur- 
ance. 

When  those  waves  of  sound  had  rolled  away 
Ken  Ward  felt  a  difference  in  Grant  Field,  in 
the  varsity,  in  himself.  A  different  color  shone 
from  the  sky. 

Ken  saw  Reddy  Ray  go  to'  bat  and  drive  the 
ball  against  the  right-field  fence.  Then  as  the 
sprinter  got  into  his  wonderful  stride  once  more 
the  whole  audience  rose  in  yelling,  crashing  clamor. 
And  when  on  Weir's  fly  to  the  outfield  Reddy 

177 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

raced  in  to  the  plate,  making  the  throw-in  look 
feeble,  again  the  din  was  terrific. 

As  one  in  a  glorious  dream,  Ken  Ward  crouched 
upon  the  bench  and  watched  the  remainder  of 
that  game.  He  grasped  it  all  as  if  baseball  was 
all  that  made  life  worth  living,  and  as  if  every 
moment  was  his  last.  He  never  thought  of  him- 
self. He  was  only  a  part  of  the  team,  and  that 
team,  every  moment,  grew  sharper,  faster,  fiercer. 
He  revelled  in  the  game.  Schoonover  was  hit 
hard,  but  fast  play  by  Raymond  and  Weir  kept 
Herne's  score  down.  The  little  second-baseman 
was  here,  there,  everywhere,  like  a  glint  of  light. 
Herne  made  runs,  but  Wayne  also  kept  adding 
runs.  Blake  caught  a  foul  fly  off  the  bleachers; 
Trace  made  a  beautiful  catch;  McCord  was  like 
a  tower  at  first  base,  and  little  Dean  went  through 
the  last  stages  of  development  that  made  him  a 
star. 

Once  in  the  eighth  inning  Ken  became  aware 
that  Worry  was  punching  him  in  the  back  and 
muttering : 

"Look  out,  Peg!  Listen!  Murphy 'II  get  one 
in  Reddy's  groove  this  time.  .  .  .  Oh-h!" 

The  crack  of  the  ball,  as  well  as  Worry's  yell, 
told  Ken  what  had  happened.  Besides,  he  could 
see,  and  as  the  ball  lined  away  for  the  fence,  and 
the  sprinter  leaped  into  action,  Ken  jumped  up 
and  screamed: 

178 


THE    HERNE    GAME 

"Oh,  Reddy,  it's  over — over!  No!  Run!  Run! 
Oh-h-h!" 

In  the  shrill,  piercing  strife  of  sound  Ken's 
scream  seemed  only  a  breath  at  his  ears.  He  held 
to  it,  almost  splitting  his  throat,  while  the  sprinter 
twinkled  round  third  base  and  came  home  like  a 
thunderbolt. 

Another  inning  passed,  a  confusion  of  hits, 
throws,  runs,  and  plays  to  Ken,  and  then  Worry 
was  pounding  him  again. 

"Dig  for  the  trainin'-house!"  yelled  Worry, 
mouth  on  his  ear.  "The  students  are  crazy! 
They'll  eat  us  alive!  They're  tearin'  the  bleachers 
down!  Run  for  it,  Peg!" 


XV 

A  MATTER  OF   PRINCIPLE 

REN  found  himself  running  across  Grant  Field, 
pursued  by  a  happy,  roaring  mob  of  students. 
They  might  have  been  Indians,  judging  from 
the  way  Ken  and  his  fellow- players  fled  be* 
fore  them.  The  trained  athletes  distanced  their 
well-meaning  but  violent  pursuers  and  gained  the 
gate,  but  it  was  a  close  shave.  The  boys  bounded 
up  the  street  into  the  training-house  and  locked 
the  door  till  the  puffing  Arthurs  arrived.  They 
let  him  in  and  locked  the  door  again. 

In  another  moment  the  street  resounded  with 
the  rush  of  many  feet  and  the  yells  of  frantic  stu- 
dents. Murray,  the  trainer,  forced  a  way  through 
the  crowd  and  up  the  stoop.  He  closed  and  barred 
the  outside  door,  and  then  pounded  upon  the  in- 
side door  for  admittance.  Worry  let  him  in. 

"They'd  make  a  bowl-fight  or  a  football  rush 
look  tame,"  panted  Murray.  "Hey!  Scotty — lock 
up  tight  down  in  the  basement.  For  Heaven's 
sake  don't  let  that  push  get  in  on  us  I  Lock  the 
windows  in  the  front." 

1 80 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

"Who's  that  poundin'  on  the  door?"  yelled 
Worry.  He  had  to  yell,  for  the  swelling  rack- 
et outside  made  ordinary  conversation  impossi- 
ble. 

"Don't  open  it!"  shouted  Murray.  "What  do 
we  care  for  team-captains,  college  professors,  ath- 
letic directors,  or  students  ?  They're  all  out 
there,  and  they're  crazy,  I  tell  you.  I  never 
saw  the  like.  It  'd  be  more  than  I  want  to  get 
in  that  jam.  And  it  'd  never  do  for  the  varsity. 
Somebody  would  get  crippled  sure.  I'm  training 
this  baseball  team." 

Murray,  in  his  zealous  care  of  his  athletes,  was 
somewhat  overshooting  the  mark,  for  not  one  of 
the  boys  had  the  slightest  desire  to  be  trusted  to 
the  mob  outside.  In  fact,  Ken  looked  dazed, 
and  Raymond  scared  to  the  point  of  trembling; 
Trace  was  pale;  and  all  the  others,  except 
Homans  and  Reddy  Ray,  showed  perturbation. 
Nor  were  the  captain  and  sprinter  deaf  to  the  pur- 
port of  that  hour;  only  in  their  faces  shone  a 
kindling  glow  and  flush. 

By-and-by  the  boys  slipped  to  their  rooms,  re- 
moved their  uniforms,  dressed  and  crept  down- 
stairs like  burglars  and  went  in  to  dinner.  Out- 
side the  uproar,  instead  of  abating,  gathered 
strength  as  time  went  by.  At  the  dinner-table  the 
boys  had  to  yell  in  each  other's  ears.  They  had 
to  force  what  they  ate.  No  one  was  hungry. 

181 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

When  Worry  rose  from  the  table  they  all  flocked 
after  him. 

It  was  growing  dark  outside,  and  a  red  glow, 
brightening  upon  the  windows,  showed  the  stu- 
dents had  lighted  bonfires. 

"They're  goin'  to  make  a  night  of  it,"  yelled 
Worry. 

"How '11  my  boys  be  able  to  sleep?"  shouted 
Murray.  Both  coach  and  trainer  were  as  ex- 
cited as  any  of  the  boys. 

"The  street's  packed  solid.     Listen!" 

The  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  thousands  of  feet 
keeping  time  was  like  the  heavy  tread  of  a  march- 
ing multitude.  Then  the  tramp  died  away  in  a 
piercing  cheer,  "Wayne!"  nine  times,  clear  and 
sustained — a  long,  beautiful  college  cheer.  In  the 
breathing  spell  that  followed,  the  steady  tramp  of 
feet  went  on.  One  by  one,  at  intervals,  the  uni- 
versity yells  were  given,  the  broken  rattling  rally, 
the  floating  melodious  crew  cheer,  and  the  hoarse, 
smashing  boom  of  football.  Then  again  the  in- 
spiriting "Wayne!"  nine  times.  After  that  came 
shrill  calls  for  the  varsity,  for  Homans,  Reddy 
Ray,  Raymond,  and  Peggie  Ward. 

"  Come  up  -  stairs  to  the  windows,  boys !" 
shouted  Worry.  "  We'  ve  got  to  show  our- 
selves." 

Worry  threw  up  the  windows  in  Weir's  room, 
and  the  boys  gingerly  poked  their  heads  out.  A 

182 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

roar   greeted   their   appearance.     The   heads   all 
popped  in  as  if  they  had  been  struck. 

"Homans,  you'll  have  to  make  a  speech,"  cried 
the  coach. 

"I  will  not!" 

"You've  got  to  say  somethin'.  We  can't  have 
this  crazy  gang  out  here  all  night." 

Then  Worry  and  Murray  coaxed  and  led  Ho- 
mans to  the  window.  The  captain  leaned  out 
and  said  something  that  was  unintelligible  in  the 
hubbub  without.  The  crowd  cheered  him  and 
called  for  Reddy,  Ward,  and  Raymond.  Worry 
grasped  the  second-baseman  and  shoved  him  half 
over  the  sill.  Raymond  would  have  fallen  out 
but  for  the  coach's  strong  hold. 

"Come  on,  Peg!"  yelled  Worry. 

"Not  on  your  life!"  cried  Ken,  in  affright.  He 
ran  away  from  the  coach,  and  dived  under  the  bed. 
But  Reddy  Ray  dragged  him  out  and  to  the  win- 
dow, and  held  him  up  in  the  bright  bonfire  glare. 
Then  he  lifted  a  hand  to  silence  the  roaring  crowd. 

"Fellows,  here  he  is — Worry's  demon,  Wayne's 
pitcher!"  called  Reddy,  in  ringing,  far-reaching 
voice.  *' Listen!  Peggie  didn't  lose  his  nerve 
when  he  faced  Herne  to-day,  but  he's  lost  it  now. 
He's  lost  his  voice,  too.  But  he  says  for  you  to 
go  away  and  save  your  cheers  for  this  day  two 
weeks,  when  we  meet  Place.  Then,  he  says,  you'll 
have  something  to  cheer  for!" 

183 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

The  crafty  sprinter  knew  how  to  appeal  to  the 
students.  All  of  voice  and  strength  and  enthu- 
siasm left  in  them  went  up  in  a  mighty  bawl  that 
rattled  the  windows  and  shook  the  house.  They 
finished  with  nine  "Waynes!"  and  a  long,  rousing 
"Peggie  Ward!"  and  then  they  went  away. 

"By  George!  look  here,  Peg,"  said  Reddy, 
earnestly,  "they  gave  you  Wayne's  Nine!  Wayne 's 
Nine!  Do  you  hear  ?  I  never  knew  a  freshman 
varsity  man  to  get  that  cheer." 

"You've  got  to  beat  Place  now,  after  tellin'  'em 
you'd  do  it,"  added  Worry. 

"  But,  Worry,  I  didn't  say  a  word — it  was  Red- 
dy," replied  Ken,  in  distress. 

"Same  thing,"  rejoined  the  coach.  "Now, 
boys,  let's  quiet  down  and  talk  over  the  game.  I 
won't  waste  any  time  jollyin*  you.  I  couldn't 
praise  you  enough  if  I  spent  the  rest  of  the  season 
tryin'  to.  One  and  all,  by  yourselves  and  in  a 
bunch,  you  played  Herne  off  their  feet,  I'll  bet 
MacNeff  and  Prince  are  dizzy  figurin*  what  '11 
happen  Saturday  week.  As  to  the  score,  why, 
scores  don't  mean  much  to  us — " 

"What  was  the  score,  anyway?"  asked  Ken. 

The  boys  greeted  this  with  shouts  of  doubtful 
laughter,  and  Worry  glanced  with  disapproval  at 
his  star. 

"Peg,  you  keep  me  guessin'  a  lot.  But  not  to 
know  how  much  we  beat  Herne  would  be  more  '» 

184 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

I  could  stand.     On  the  level,  now,  don't  you  know 
the  score  ?" 

"Fair  and  square,  I  don't,  Worry.  You  never 
would  let  me  think  of  how  many  runs  we  had 
or  needed.  I  can  count  seven — yes,  and  one 
more,  that  was  Reddy's  home-run." 

"Peg,  you  must  have  been  up  in  the  air  a  little; 
14  to  4,  that's  it.  And  we  didn't  take  our  bat  in 
the  last  of  the  ninth." 

Then  followed  Worry's  critical  account  of  the 
game,  and  a  discussion  in  which  the  boys  went 
over  certain  plays.  During  the  evening  many 
visitors  called,  but  did  not  gain  admission.  The 
next  morning,  however,  Worry  himself  brought  in 
the  newspapers,  which  heretofore  he  had  for- 
bidden the  players  to  read,  and  he  told  them  they 
were  now  free  to  have  any  callers  or  to  go  where 
they  liked.  There  was  a  merry  scramble  for  the 
papers,  and  presently  the  reading-room  was  as 
quiet  as  a  church. 

The  account  that  held  Ken  Ward  in  rapt  perusal 
was  the  Morning  Times-Star's.  At  first  the  print 
blurred  in  Ken's  sight.  Then  he  read  it  over 
again.  He  liked  the  glowing  praise  given  the 
team,  and  was  shamefully  conscious  of  the  de- 
light in  his  name  in  large  letters.  A  third  time  he 
read  it,  guiltily  this  time,  for  he  did  not  dream 
that  his  comrades  were  engrossed  in  like  in- 
dulgence. 

185 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 
WAYNE  OUTCLASSES  HERNE 

ARTHURS    DEVELOPS    ANOTHER    GREAT    TEAM.       PEGGIE 
WARD    AND    REDDY    RAY    STARS 

Wayne  defeated  Herne  yesterday  14  to  4,  and  thereby 
leaped  into  the  limelight.  It  was  a  surprise  to  every 
one,  Herne  most  of  all.  Owing  to  the  stringent  eligi- 
bility rules  now  in  force  at  Wayne,  and  the  barring  of 
the  old  varsity,  nothing  was  expected  of  this  season's 
team.  Arthurs,  the  famous  coach,  has  built  a  wonder- 
ful nine  out  of  green  material,  and  again  establishes  the 
advisability  of  professional  coaches  for  the  big  uni- 
versities. 

With  one  or  two  exceptions  Wayne's  varsity  is  made 
up  of  players  developed  this  year.  Homans,  the  cap- 
tain, was  well  known  about  town  as  an  amateur  player 
of  ability.  But  Arthurs  has  made  him  into  a  great  field 
captain  and  a  base-getter  of  remarkable  skill.  An  un- 
official computing  gives  him  the  batting  average  of  .536. 
No  captain  or  any  other  player  of  any  big  college  team 
in  the  East  ever  approached  such  percentage  as  that. 
It  is  so  high  that  it  must  be  a  mistake. 

Reddy  Ray,  the  intercollegiate  champion  in  the 
sprints,  is  the  other  seasoned  player  of  the  varsity,  and 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  he  is  the  star  of  all  the  college  teams. 
A  wonderful  fielder,  a  sure  and  heavy  hitter,  and  like  a 
flash  on  the  bases,  he  alone  makes  Homans'  team 
formidable. 

Then  there  is  Peg  Ward,  Worry  Arthurs'  demon 
pitcher,  of  freshman  bowl-fight  fame.  This  lad  has 

186 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

been  arriving  since  spring,  and  now  he  has  arrived.  He 
is  powerful,  and  has  a  great  arm.  He  seems  to  pitch 
without  effort,  has  twice  the  speed  of  Dale,  and  is  as  cool 
in  the  box  as  a  veteran.  But  it  is  his  marvellous  control 
of  the  ball  that  puts  him  in  a  class  by  himself.  In  the 
fourth  inning  of  yesterday's  game  he  extended  himself, 
probably  on  orders  from  Coach  Arthurs,  and  struck  out 
Herne's  three  best  hitters  on  eleven  pitched  balls.  Then 
he  was  taken  out  and  Schoonover  put  in.  This  white- 
headed  lad  is  no  slouch  of  a  pitcher,  by-the-way.  But 
it  must  have  been  a  bitter  pill  for  Herne  to  swallow. 
The  proud  Herne  varsity  have  been  used  to  knocking 
pitchers  out  of  the  box,  instead  of  seeing  them  removed 
because  they  were  too  good.  Also,  MacNeff  and  Prince, 
of  Place,  who  saw  the  game,  must  have  had  food  for  re- 
flection. They  did  not  get  much  of  a  line  on  young 
Ward,  and  what  they  saw  will  not  give  them  pleasant 
dreams.  We  pick  Ward  to  beat  the  heavy-hitting  Place 
team. 

Other  youngsters  of  Arthurs'  nine  show  up  well,  par- 
ticularly Raymond  and  Weir,  who  have  springs  in  their 
feet  and  arms  like  whips.  Altogether  Arthurs'  varsity  is 
a  strangely  assorted,  a  wonderfully  chosen  group  of 
players.  We  might  liken  them  to  the  mechanism  of  a 
fine  watch,  with  Ward  as  the  mainspring,  and  the 
others  with  big  or  little  parts  to  perform,  but  each  de- 
pendent upon  the  other.  Wayne's  greatest  baseball 
team! 

Ken  read  it  all  thirstily,  wonderingly,  and  re- 
corded it  deep  in  the  deepest  well  of  his  memory. 
It  seemed  a  hundred  times  as  sweet  for  all  the 
13  187 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

misery  and  longing  and  fear  and  toil  which  it  had 
cost  to  gain. 

And  each  succeeding  day  grew  fuller  and  richer 
with  its  meed  of  reward.  All  the  boys  of  the  var- 
sity were  sought  by  the  students,  Ken  most  of  all. 
Everywhere  he  went  he  was  greeted  with  a  regard 
that  made  him  still  more  bashful  and  ashamed. 
If  he  stepped  into  Carlton  Club,  it  was  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  frankly  admiring  circle  of  students. 
He  could  not  get  a  moment  alone  in  the  library. 
Professors  had  a  smile  for  him  and  often  stopped 
to  chat.  The  proudest  moment  of  his  college 
year  was  when  President  Halstead  met  him  in  the 
promenade,  and  before  hundreds  of  students 
turned  to  walk  a  little  way  with  him.  There 
seemed  not  to  be  a  single  student  of  the  university 
or  any  one  connected  with  it,  who  did  not  recog- 
nize him.  Bryan  took  him  to  watch  the  crew 
practise;  Stevens  played  billiards  with  him 
at  the  club;  Dale  openly  sought  his  society. 
Then  the  fraternities  began  to  vie  with  one  an- 
other for  Ken.  In  all  his  life  he  had  not  imagined 
a  fellow  could  be  treated  so  well.  It  was  an  open 
secret  that  Ken  Ward  was  extremely  desired  in 
the  best  fraternities.  He  could  not  have  counted 
his  friends.  Through  it  all,  by  thinking  of  Worry 
and  the  big  games  coming,  he  managed  to  stay 
on  his  feet. 

One  morning,  when  he  was  at  the  height  of  this 
188 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

enjoyable  popularity,  he  read  a  baseball  note 
that  set  him  to  thinking  hard.  The  newspaper, 
commenting  on  the  splendid  results  following 
Wayne's  new  athletic  rules,  interpreted  one  rule  in 
a  way  astounding  to  Ken.  It  was  something  to 
the  effect  that  all  players  who  had  been  on  a  team 
which  paid  any  player  or  any  expenses  of  any 
player  were  therefore  ineligible.  Interpretation 
of  the  rules  had  never  been  of  any  serious  mo- 
ment to  Ken.  He  had  never  played  on  any  but 
boy  teams.  But  suddenly  he  remembered  that 
during  a  visit  to  the  mountains  with  his  mother 
he  had  gone  to  a  place  called  Eagle's  Nest,  a  sum- 
mer hotel  colony.  It  boasted  of  a  good  ball  team 
and  had  a  rival  in  the  Glenwoods,  a  team  from  an 
adjoining  resort.  Ken  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
chasing  flies  for  the  players  in  practice.  One  day 
Eagle's  Nest  journeyed  over  to  Glenwood  to  play, 
and  being  short  one  player  they  took  Ken  to  fill 
in.  He  had  scarcely  started  in  the  game  when 
the  regular  player  appeared,  thus  relieving  him. 
The  incident  had  completely  slipped  Ken's  mind 
until  recalled  by  the  newspaper  note. 

Whereupon  Ken  began  to  ponder.  He  scouted 
the  idea  of  that  innocent  little  thing  endangering 
his  eligibility  at  Wayne.  But  the  rule,  thus  made 
clear,  stood  out  in  startlingly  black-and-white  re- 
lief. Eagle's  Nest  supported  a  team  by  sub- 
scription among  the  hotel  guests.  Ken  had  ridden 

i8Q 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

ten  miles  in  a  'bus  with  the  team,  and  had  worn  one 
of  the  uniforms  for  some  few  minutes.  There- 
fore, upon  a  technicality,  perhaps,  he  had  been 
on  a  summer  nine,  and  had  no  right  to  play  for 
Wayne. 

Ken  went  to  Homans  and  told  him  the  circum- 
stance. The  captain  looked  exceedingly  grave, 
then  getting  more  particulars  he  relaxed. 

"You're  safe,  Peg.  You're  perfectly  innocent. 
But  don't  mention  it  to  any  one  else,  especially 
Worry.  He'd  have  a  fit.  What  a  scare  you'd 
throw  into  the  varsity  camp!  Forget  the  few 
minutes  you  wore  that  Eagle's  Nest  suit." 

For  the  time  being  this  reassured  Ken,  but  after 
a  while  his  anxiety  returned.  Homans  had  said 
not  to  mention  it,  and  that  bothered  Ken.  He  lay 
awake  half  of  one  night  thinking  about  the  thing. 
It  angered  him  and  pricked  his  conscience  and 
routed  him.  He  wanted  to  feel  absolutely  sure  of 
his  position,  for  his  own  sake  first  of  all.  So  next 
morning  he  cornered  Worry  and  blurted  out  the 
secret. 

"Peg,  what  're  you  givin'  me!"  he  ejaculated. 

Ken  repeated  his  story,  somewhat  more  clearly 
and  at  greater  length.  Worry  turned  as  white  as 
a  ghost. 

"Good  gracious,  Peg,  you  haven't  toW  any- 
body ?" 

"No  one  but  Homans." 
190 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

Worry  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  and  his  face 
regained  some  of  its  usual  florid  color. 

"Well,  that's  all  right  then.  .  .  .  Say,  didn't  I 
tell  you  once  that  I  had  a  weak  heart  ?  Peg,  of 
course  you're  an  amateur,  or  there  never  was  one. 
But  'em  fat-head  directors!  Why,  I  wouldn't 
have  'em  find  that  out  for  a  million  dollars. 
They're  idiots  enough  to  make  a  shinin'  example 
of  you  right  before  the  Place  games.  Keep  it 
under  your  hat,  see!" 

This  last  was  in  the  nature  of  a  command,  and 
Ken  had  always  religiously  obeyed  Worry.  He 
went  to  his  room  feeling  that  the  matter  had  been 
decided  for  him.  Relief,  however,  did  not  long 
abide  with  him.  He  began  to  be  torn  between 
loyalty  to  Worry  and  duty  to  himself.  He  felt 
guiltless,  but  he  was  not  sure  of  it,  and  until  he 
was  sure  he  could  not  be  free  in  mind.  Suddenly 
he  thought  of  being  actually  barred  from  the  var- 
sity, and  was  miserable.  That  he  could  not  bear. 
Strong  temptation  now  assailed  Ken  and  found 
him  weak.  A  hundred  times  he  reconciled  him- 
self to  Worry's  command,  to  Homan's  point  of 
view,  yet  every  time  something  rose  within  him 
and  rebelled.  But  despite  the  rebellion  Ken  al- 
most gave  in.  He  fought  off  thought  of  his  new 
sweet  popularity,  of  the  glory  of  being  Wayne's 
athletic  star.  He  fought  to  look  the  thing  fairly 
in  the  face.  To  him  it  loomed  up  a  hundredfold 

191 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

larger  than  an  incident  of  his  baseball  career. 
And  so  he  got  strength  to  do  the  thing  that  would 
ease  the  voice  of  conscience.  He  went  straight 
t9  the  coach. 

"Worry,  I've  got  to  go  to  the  directors  and  tell 
them.  I — I'm  sorry,  but  I've  got  to  do  it." 

He  expected  a  storm  of  rage  from  Worry,  but 
never  had  the  coach  been  so  suave,  so  kindly,  so 
magnetic.  He  called  Homans  and  Raymond  and 
Weir  and  others  who  were  in  the  house  at  the 
moment  and  stated  Ken's  case.  His  speech  flowed 
smooth  and  rapid.  The  matter  under  his  deft 
argument  lost  serious  proportions.  But  it  seemed 
to  Ken  that  Worry  did  not  tell  the  boys  the  whole 
truth,  or  they  would  not  have  laughed  at  the  thing 
and  made  him  out  over-sensitive.  And  Ken  was 
now  growing  too  discouraged  and  bewildered  to 
tell  them.  Moreover,  he  was  getting  stubborn. 
The  thing  was  far  from  a  joke.  The  cunning  of 
the  coach  proved  that.  Worry  wound  the  boys 
round  his  little  finger. 

At  this  juncture  Reddy  Ray  entered  the  training- 
house. 

More  than  once  Ken  had  gone  to  the  great 
sprinter  with  confidences  and  troubles,  and  now 
he  began  impulsively,  hurriedly,  incoherently,  to 
tell  the  story. 

"And  Reddy,"  concluded  Ken,  "I've  got  to  tell 
the  directors.  It's  something — hard  for  me  to 

192 


A    MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

explain.  I  couldn't  pitch  another  game  with  this 
hanging  over  me.  I  must — tell  them — and  take 
my  medicine." 

"Sure  It's  a  matter  of  principle,"  replied 
Reddy,  in  his  soft,  slow  voice.  His  keen  eyes  left 
Ken's  pale  face  and  met  the  coach's.  "Worry, 
I'll  take  Peg  up  to  see  the  athletic  faculty.  I 
know  Andrews,  the  president,  and  he's  the  one 
to  hear  Peg's  story." 

Worry  groaned  and  sank  into  a  chair  crushed 
and  beaten.  Then  he  swore,  something  unusual 
in  him.  Then  he  began  to  rave  at  the  fat-headed 
directors.  Then  he  yelled  that  he  would  never 
coach  another  ball  team  so  long  as  he  lived. 

Ken  followed  Reddy  out  of  the  training-house 
and  along  the  street.  The  fact  that  the  sprinter 
did  not  say  a  word  showed  Ken  he  was  understood, 
and  he  felt  immeasurably  grateful.  They  crossed 
the  campus  and  entered  College  Hall,  to  climb  the 
winding  stairway.  To  Ken  that  was  a  long,  hate- 
ful climb.  Andrews,  and  another  of  the  di- 
rectors whom  Ken  knew  by  sight,  were  in  the 
office.  They  greeted  the  visitors  with  cordial 
warmth. 

"Gentlemen,"  began  Reddy,  "Ward  thinks  he 
has  violated  one  of  the  eligibility  rules." 

There  was  no  beating  about  the  bush  with 
Reddy  Ray,  no  shading  of  fact,  no  distortion  of 
the  truth.  Coolly  he  stated  the  case.  But, 

193 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

strangely  to  Ken,  the  very  truth,  told  by  Reddy 
in  this  way,  somehow  lost  its  terrors.  Ken's 
shoulders  seemed  unburdened  of  a  terrible  weight. 

Andrews  and  his  colleague  laughed  heartily. 

"You  see — I — I  forgot  all  about  it,"  said  Ken. 

"Yes,  and  since  he  remembered  he's  been 
worrying  himself  sick,"  resumed  Reddy. 
"Couldn't  rest  till  he'd  come  over  here." 

"Ward,  it's  much  to  your  credit  that  you  should 
confide  something  there  was  never  any  chance  of 
becoming  known,"  said  the  president  of  the 
athletic  faculty.  "We  appreciate  it.  You  may 
relieve  your  mind  of  misgivings  as  to  your  eligi- 
bility. Even  if  we  tried  I  doubt  if  we  could  twist 
a  rule  to  affect  your  standing.  And  you  may  rest 
assured  we  wouldn't  try  in  the  case  of  so  fine  a 
young  fellow  and  so  splendid  a  pitcher  for  Wayne." 

Then  Andrews  courteously  shook  hands  with 
Ken  and  Reddy  and  bowed  them  out.  Ken 
danced  half-way  down  the  stairway  and  slid  the 
rest  on  the  bannister. 

"Reddy,  wasn't  he  just  fine?"  cried  Ken,  all 
palpitating  with  joy. 

"Well,  Peg,  Andrews  is  a  nice  old  thing  if 
you  approach  him  right,"  replied  Reddy,  dryly. 
"You  wouldn't  believe  me,  would  you,  if  I  said 
I  had  my  heart  in  my  throat  when  we  went  in  ?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  replied  Ken,  bluntly. 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Reddy.  Then  the 
194 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

gravity  that  had  suddenly  perplexed  Ken  cleared 
from  the  sprinter's  face.  "Peg,  let's  have  some 
fun  with  Worry  and  the  boys." 

"I'm  in  for  anything  now." 

"We'll  go  back  to  the  training-house  with  long 
faces.  When  we  get  in  you  run  up-stairs  as  if 
you  couldn't  face  any  one,  but  be  sure  to  sneak 
back  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  see  and  hear  the 
fun.  I'll  fix  Worry  all  right.  Now,  don't  flunk. 
It's  a  chance." 

Ken  could  not  manage  to  keep  a  straight  face 
as  they  went  in,  so  he  hid  it  and  rushed  up-stairs. 
He  bumped  into  Raymond,  knocking  him  flat. 

"  Running  to  a  fire  again  ?"  growled  Raymond. 
"Got  a  fire-medal,  haven't  you?  Always  falling 
over  people." 

Ken  tried  to  simulate  ungovernable  rage  and 
impotent  distress  at  once.  He  waved  one  fist  and 
tore  his  hair  with  the  other  hand. 

"Get  out  of  my  way!"  roared  Ken.  "What  'II 
you  say  when  I  tell  you  I'm  barred  from  the 
varsity!" 

"Oh!  Ken!  No,  no — don't  say  it,"  faltered 
Raymond,  all  sympathy  in  an  instant. 

Ken  ran  into  his  room,  closed  the  door  and  then 
peeped  out.  He  saw  Raymond  slowly  sag  down- 
stairs as  if  his  heart  was  broken.  Then  Ken  slipped 
out  and  crawled  down  the  hall  till  he  could  see  into 
the  reading-room.  All  the  boys  were  there,  with 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

anxious  faces,  crowded  round  the  coach.  Worry 
was  livid.  Reddy  Ray  seemed  the  only  calm  person 
in  the  room  and  he  had  tragedy  written  all  over  him. 

"Out  with  it!"  shouted  Worry.  "Don't  stand 
there  like  a  mournful  preacher.  What  did  'em 
fat-heads  say?" 

Reddy  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  significant 
gesture. 

"I  knew  it!"  howled  Worry,  jumping  up  and 
down.  "I  knew  it!  Why  did  you  take  the  kid 
over  there  ?  Why  didn't  you  let  me  and  Homans 
handle  this  thing?  You  red-headed,  iron-jawed, 
cold-blooded  wind-chaser!  You've  done  it  now, 
haven't  you  ?  I — Oh — " 

Worry  began  to  flounder  helplessly. 

"They  said  a  few  more  things,"  went  on  Reddy. 
"Peg  is  barred,  Raymond  is  barred,  I  am  barred. 
I  told  them  about  my  baseball  career  out  West. 
The  directors  said  some  pretty  plain  things  about 
you,  Worry,  I'm  sorry  to  tell.  You're  a  rotten 
coach.  In  fact,  you  ought  to  be  a  coach  at  an  un- 
dertaker's. Homans  gets  the  credit  for  the  work 
of  the  team.  They  claim  you  are  too  hard  on  the 
boys,  too  exacting,  too  brutal,  in  fact.  Andrews 
recited  a  record  of  your  taking  sandwiches  from  us 
and  aiding  and  abetting  Murray  in  our  slow  star- 
vation. The  directors  will  favor  your  dismissal  and 
urge  the  appointment  of  Professor  Rhodes,  who  as 
coach  will  at  least  feed  us  properly." 

196 


A   MATTER    OF    PRINCIPLE 

Reddy  stopped  to  catch  his  breath  and  gain  time 
for  more  invention.  Of  all  the  unhappy  mortals 
on  earth  Worry  Arthurs  looked  the  unhappiest. 
He  believed  every  word  as  if  it  had  been  gospel. 
And  that  about  Professor  Rhodes  was  the  last 
straw. 

Ken  could  stand  the  deception  no  longer.  He 
marvelled  at  Reddy's  consummate  lying  and  how 
he  could  ever  stand  that  look  on  Worry's  face. 
Bounding  down-stairs  four  steps  at  a  jump,  Ken 
burst  like  a  bomb  upon  the  sad-faced  group. 

"Oh,  Worry,  it's  all  a  joker* 


XVI 


RAIN  prevented  the  second  Herne  game,  which 
was  to  have  been  played  on  the  Herne 
grounds.  It  rained  steadily  all  day  Friday  and 
Saturday,  to  the  disappointment  of  Wayne's 
varsity.  The  coach,  however,  admitted  that  he 
was  satisfied  to  see  the  second  contest  with  Herne 
go  by  the  board. 

"  I  don't  like  big  games  away  from  home,"  said 
Worry.  "It's  hard  on  new  teams.  Besides,  we 
beat  Herne  to  death  over  here.  Mebbe  we 
couldn't  do  it  over  there,  though  I  ain't  doubtin*. 
But  it's  Place  we're  after,  and  if  we'd  had  that 
game  at  Herne  we  couldn't  have  kept  Place  from 
gettin'  a  line  on  us.  So  I'm  glad  it  rained." 

The  two  Place  games  fell  during  a  busy  week  at 
Wayne.  Wednesday  was  the  beginning  of  the 
commencement  exercises  and  only  a  comparatively 
few  students  could  make  the  trip  to  Place.  But 
the  night  before  the  team  left,  the  students,  four 
thousand  strong,  went  to  the  training-house  and 
filled  a  half-hour  with  college  songs  and  cheers. 

198 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

/ 

Next  morning  Dale  and  Stevens,  heading  a 
small  band  of  Wayne  athletes  and  graduates,  met 
the  team  at  the  railroad  station  and  boarded  the 
train  with  them.  Worry  and  Homans  welcomed 
them,  and  soon  every  Wayne  player  had  two  or 
more  for  company.  Either  by  accident  or  design, 
Ken  could  not  tell  which,  Dale  and  Stevens  singled 
him  out  for  their  especial  charge.  The  football 
captain  filled  one  seat  with  his  huge  bulk  and 
faced  Ken,  and  Dale  sat  with  a  hand  on  Ken's 
shoulder. 

"Peg,  we're  backing  you  for  all  we're  worth," 
said  Stevens.  "But  this  is  your  first  big  game 
away  from  home.  It's  really  the  toughest  game 
of  the  season.  Place  is  a  hard  nut  to  crack  any 
time.  And  her  players  on  their  own  backyard 
are  scrappers  who  can  take  a  lot  of  beating  and 
still  win  out.  Then  there's  another  thing  that's 
no  small  factor  in  their  strength:  They  are 
idolized  by  the  students,  and  rooting  at  Place  is 
a  science.  They  have  a  yell  that  beats  anything 
you  ever  heard.  It  '11  paralyze  a  fellow  at  a  critical 
stage.  But  that  yell  is  peculiar  in  that  it  rises  out 
of  circumstances  leading  to  almost  certain  victory. 
That  is,  Place  has  to  make  a  strong  bid  for  a 
close,  hard  game  to  work  up  that  yell.  So  if  it 
comes  to-day  you  be  ready  for  it.  Have  your  ears 
stuffed  with  cotton,  and  don't  let  that  yell  blow 
you  up  in  the  air." 

199 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Dale  was  even  more  earnest  than  Stevens. 

"Peg,  Place  beat  me  over  here  last  year,  beat 
me  6 — 3.  They  hit  me  harder  than  I  ever  was 
hit  before,  I  guess.  You  went  down  to  Washing- 
ton, Worry  said,  to  look  them  over.  Tell  me  what 
you  think — how  you  sized  them  up.'* 

Dale  listened  attentively  while  Ken  recited  his 
impressions. 

"You've  got  Prince  and  MacNeff  figured  exact- 
ly right,"  replied  Dale.  "Prince  is  the  football 
captain,  by -the -way.  Be  careful  how  you  run 
into  second  base.  If  you  ever  slide  into  him  head 
first — good-bye!  He's  a  great  player,  and  he  can 
hit  any  kind  of  a  ball.  MacNeff  now,  just  as  you 
said,  is  weak  on  a  high  ball  close  in,  and  he  kills 
a  low  ball.  Kills  is  the  word!  He  hits  them  a 
mile.  But,  Peg,  I  think  you're  a  little  off  on 
Keene,  Starke,  and  Martin,  the  other  Place  cracks. 
They're  veterans,  hard  to  pitch  to;  they  make  you 
cut  the  plate;  they  are  as  apt  to  bunt  as  hit,  and 
they  are  fast.  They  keep  a  fellow  guessing.  I 
think  Starke  pulls  a  little  on  a  curve,  but  the  others 
have  no  weakness  I  ever  discovered.  But,  Peg,  I 
expect  you  to  do  more  with  them  than  I  did. 
My  control  was  never  any  too  good,  and  you  can 
throw  almost  as  straight  as  a  fellow  could  shoot 
a  rifle.  Then  your  high  fast  ball,  that  one  you 
get  with  the  long  swing,  it  would  beat  any  team. 
Only  I'm  wondering,  I'm  asking — can  you  use  i* 

200 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

right  along,  in  the  face  of  such  coaching  and  yell- 
ing and  hitting  as  you'll  run  against  to-day  ?  I'm 
asking  deliberately,  because  I  want  to  give  you 
confidence." 

"Why,  yes,  Dale,  I  think  I  can.  I'm  pretty 
sure  of  it.  That  ball  comes  easily,  only  a  little 
longer  swing  and  more  snap,  and  honestly,  Dale, 
I  hardly  ever  think  about  the  plate.  I  know 
where  it  is,  and  I  could  shut  my  eyes  and  throw 
strikes." 

"Peg,  you're  a  wonder,"  replied  Dale,  warmly. 
"  If  you  can  do  that — and  hang  me  if  I  doubt  it — 
you  will  make  Place  look  like  a  lot  of  dubs. 
We're  sure  to  make  a  few  runs.  Homans  and 
Ray  will  hit  Salisbury  hard.  There's  no  fence 
on  Place  Field,  and  every  ball  Reddy  hits  past  a 
fielder  will  be  a  home-run.  You  can  gamble  on 
that.  So  set  a  fast  clip  when  you  start  in,  and 
hang." 

Some  time  later,  when  Ken  had  changed  seats 
and  was  talking  to  Raymond,  he  heard  Worry  say 
to  somebody: 

"Well,  if  Peg  don't  explode  to-day  he  never 
will.  I  almost  wish  he  would.  He'd  be  better 
for  it,  afterward." 

This  surprised  Ken,  annoyed  him,  and  straight- 
way he  became  thoughtful.  Why  this  persistent 
harping  on  the  chance  of  his  getting  excited  from 
one  cause  or  another,  losing  his  control  and 

201 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

thereby  the  game  ?  Ken  had  not  felt  in  the  least 
nervous  about  the  game.  He  would  get  so,  pres- 
ently, if  his  advisers  did  not  stop  hinting.  Then 
Worry's  wish  that  he  might  "explode"  was  puz- 
zling. A  little  shade  of  gloom  crept  over  the 
bright  horizon  of  Ken's  hopes.  Almost  uncon- 
sciously vague  doubts  of  himself  fastened  upon 
him.  For  the  first  time  he  found  himself  looking 
forward  to  a  baseball  game  with  less  eagerness 
than  uncertainty.  Stubbornly  he  fought  off  the 
mood. 

Place  was  situated  in  an  old  college  town  famed 
for  its  ancient  trees  and  quaint  churches  and  inns. 
The  Wayne  varsity,  arriving  late,  put  on  their 
uniforms  at  the  St.  George,  a  tavern  that  seemed 
never  to  have  been  in  any  way  acquainted  with 
a  college  baseball  team.  It  was  very  quiet  and 
apparently  deserted.  For  that  matter  the  town 
itself  appeared  deserted.  The  boys  dressed  hur- 
riedly, in  silence,  with  frowning  brows  and  com- 
pressed lips.  Worry  Arthurs  remained  down- 
stairs while  they  dressed.  Homans  looked  the 
team  over  and  then  said: 

"  Boys,  come  on !  To-day's  our  hardest  game." 
It  was  only  a  short  walk  along  the  shady  street 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  town  and  the  athletic  field. 
The  huge  stands  blocked  the  view  from  the  back 
and  side.  Homans  led  the  team  under  the 
bleachers,  through  a  narrow  walled-in  aisle,  to 

202 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

the  side  entrance,  and  there  gave  the  word  for  the 
varsity  to  run  out  upon  the  field.  A  hearty  roar 
of  applause  greeted  their  appearance. 

Ken  saw  a  beautiful  green  field,  level  as  a  floor, 
with  a  great  half-circle  of  stands  and  bleachers 
at  one  end.  One  glance  was  sufficient  to  make 
Ken's  breathing  an  effort.  He  saw  a  glittering 
mass,  a  broad,  moving  band  of  color.  Every- 
where waved  Place  flags,  bright  gold  and  blue. 
White  faces  gleamed  like  daisies  on  a  golden 
dope.  In  the  bleachers  close  to  the  first  base 
massed  a  shirt-sleeved  crowd  of  students,  row  on 
row  of  them,  thousands  in  number.  Ken  ex- 
perienced a  little  chill  as  he  attached  the  famous 
Place  yell  to  that  significant  placing  of  rooters. 
A  soft  breeze  blew  across  the  field,  and  it  carried 
low  laughter  and  voices  of  girls,  a  merry  hum,  and 
subdued  murmur,  and  an  occasional  clear  shout. 
The  whole  field  seemed  keenly  alive. 

From  the  bench  Ken  turned  curious,  eager 
eyes  upon  the  practising  Place  men.  Never  had 
he  regarded  players  with  as  sharp  an  interest, 
curiosity  being  mingled  with  admiration,  and  con- 
fidence with  doubt.  MacNeff,  the  captain,  at 
first  base,  veteran  of  three  years,  was  a  tall,  power- 
ful fellow,  bold  and  decisive  in  action.  Prince, 
Place's  star  on  both  gridiron  and  diamond,  played 
at  second  base.  He  was  very  short,  broad  and 
heavy,  and  looked  as  if  he  would  have  made  three 
14  203 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

of  little  Raymond.  Martin,  at  short-stop,  was  of 
slim,  muscular  build.  Keene  and  Starke,  in  centre 
and  left,  were  big  men.  Salisbury  looked  all  of 
six  feet,  and  every  inch  a  pitcher.  He  also  played 
end  on  the  football  varsity.  Ken  had  to  indulge 
in  a  laugh  at  the  contrast  in  height  and  weight 
of  Wayne  when  compared  to  Place.  The  laugh 
was  good  for  him,  because  it  seemed  to  loosen 
something  hard  and  tight  within  his  breast, 
Besides,  Worry  saw  him  laugh  and  looked  pleased, 
and  that  pleased  Ken. 

"Husky  lot  of  stiffs,  eh,  Peg  ?"  said  Worry,  read- 
ing Ken's  thought.  "But,  say!  this  ain't  no  foot- 
ball game.  We'll  make  these  heavyweights  look 
like  ice-wagons.  I  never  was  much  on  beefy  ball- 
players. Aha!  there  goes  the  gong.  Place's  takin* 
the  field.  That  suits  me.  .  .  .  Peg,  listen!  The 
game's  on.  I've  only  one  word  to  say  to  you. 
Try  to  keep  solid  on  your  feet!" 

A  short  cheer,  electrifying  in  its  force,  pealed  out 
like  a  blast. 

Then  Homans  stepped  to  the  plate  amid  gener- 
ous hand-clapping.  The  Place  adherents  had 
their  favorites,  but  they  always  showed  a  sports- 
manlike appreciation  of  opponents.  Salisbury 
wound  up,  took  an  enormous  stride,  and  pitched 
the  ball.  He  had  speed.  Homans  seldom  hit  on 
the  first  pitch,  and  this  was  a  strike.  But  he 
rapped  the  next  like  a  bullet  at  Griffith,  the  third- 

204 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

baseman.  Griffith  blocked  the  ball,  and,  quickly 
reaching  it,  he  used  a  snap  underhand  throw  to 
first,  catching  Homans  by  a  narrow  margin.  It 
was  a  fine  play  and  the  crowd  let  out  another  blast. 

Raymond,  coming  up,  began  his  old  trick  of  try- 
ing to  work  the  pitcher  for  a  base.  He  was  small 
and  he  crouched  down  until  a  wag  in  the  bleachers 
yelled  that  this  was  no  kindergarten  game.  Ray- 
mond was  exceedingly  hard  to  pitch  to.  He  was 
always  edging  over  the  plate,  trying  to  get  hit.  If 
anybody  touched  him  in  practice  he  would  roar 
like  a  mad  bull,  but  in  a  game  he  would  cheerfully 
have  stopped  cannon-balls.  He  got  in  front  of 
Salisbury's  third  pitch,  and,  dropping  his  bat, 
started  for  first  base.  The  umpire  called  him 
back.  Thereupon  Raymond  fouled  balls  and 
went  through  contortions  at  the  plate  till  he  was 
out  on  strikes. 

When  Reddy  Ray  took  his  position  at  bat  au- 
dible remarks  passed  like  a  wave  through  the  au- 
dience. Then  a  long,  hearty  cheer  greeted  the 
great  sprinter.  When  roar  once  again  subsided 
into  waiting  suspense  a  strong-lunged  Wayne 
rooter  yelled,  "Watch  him  run!" 

The  outfielders  edged  out  deeper  and  deeper. 
MacNeff  called  low  to  Salisbury:  "Don't  let  this 
fellow  walk!  Keep  them  high  and  make  him  hit!" 
It  was  evident  that  Place  had  gotten  a  line  on  one 
Wayne  player. 

205 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Salisbury  delivered  the  ball  and  Reddy  whirled 
with  his  level  swing.  There  was  a  sharp  crack. 

Up  started  the  crowd  with  sudden  explosive: 
"Oh!" 

Straight  as  a  bee-line  the  ball  sped  to  Keene  in 
deep  centre,  and  Reddy  was  out. 

Wayne  players  went  running  out  and  Place 
players  came  trotting  in.  Ken,  however,  at 
Worry's  order,  walked  slowly  and  leisurely  to  the 
pitcher's  box.  He  received  an  ovation  from  the 
audience  that  completely  surprised  him  and  which 
stirred  him  to  warm  gratefulness.  Then,  receiving 
the  ball,  he  drew  one  quick  breath,  and  faced  the 
stern  issue  of  the  day. 

As  always,  he  had  his  pitching  plan  clearly  de- 
fined in  mind,  and  no  little  part  of  it  was  cool  de- 
liberation, study  of  the  batter  to  the  point  of 
irritating  him,  and  then  boldness  of  action.  He 
had  learned  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  put  the  ball 
over  the  plate,  and  the  knowledge  had  made  him 
bold,  and  boldness  increased  his  effectiveness. 

For  Keene,  first  batter  up,  Ken  pitched  his  fast 
ball  with  all  his  power.  Like  a  glancing  streak  it 
shot  over.  A  low  whistling  ran  through  the 
bleachers.  For  the  second  pitch  Ken  took  the 
same  long  motion,  ending  in  the  sudden  swing,  but 
this  time  he  threw  a  slow,  wide,  tantalizing  curve 
that  floated  and  waved  and  circled  around  across 
the  plate.  It  also  was  a  strike.  Keene  had  not 

206 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

offered  to  hit  either.  In  those  two  balls,  perfectly 
controlled,  Ken  deliberately  showed  the  Place  team 
the  wide  extremes  of  his  pitching  game. 

"Keene,  he  don't  waste  any.  Hit!"  ordered 
MacNeff  from  the  bench.  The  next  ball,  a  high 
curve,  Keene  hit  on  the  fly  to  Homans. 

The  flaxen-haired  Prince  trotted  up  with  little, 
short  steps.  Ken  did  not  need  the  wild  outburst 
from  the  crowd  to  appreciate  this  sturdy  hero  of 
many  gridiron  and  diamond  battles.  He  was  so 
enormously  wide,  almost  as  wide  as  he  was  long, 
that  he  would  have  been  funny  to  Ken  but  for  the 
reputation  that  went  with  the  great  shoulders  and 
stumpy  legs. 

"Ward,  give  me  a  good  one,"  said  Prince,  in  a 
low,  pleasant  voice.  He  handled  his  heavy  bat  as 
if  it  had  been  light  as  a  yardstick. 

It  was  with  more  boldness  than  intention  of 
gratifying  Prince  that  Ken  complied,  using  the 
same  kind  of  ball  he  had  tried  first  on  Keene. 
Prince  missed  it.  The  next,  a  low  curve,  he 
cracked  hard  to  the  left  of  Raymond.  The  second- 
baseman  darted  over,  fielded  the  ball  cleanly,  and 
threw  Prince  out. 

Then  the  long,  rangy  MacNefF,  home-run  hitter 
for  Place,  faced  Ken.  His  position  at  bat  bothered 
Ken,  for  he  stood  almost  on  the  plate.  Remember- 
ing MacNefF's  weakness,  Ken  lost  no  time  putting  a 
swift  in-shoot  under  his  chin.  The  Place  captain 

207 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

lunged  round  at  it,  grunting  with  his  swing.  If  he 
had  hit  the  ball  it  would  have  been  with  the  handle 
of  his  bat.  So  Ken,  knowing  his  control,  and  sure 
that  he  could  pitch  high  shoots  all  day  over  the  in- 
comer of  the  plate,  had  no  more  fear  of  the  Place 
slugger.  And  it  took  only  three  more  pitches  to 
strike  him  out. 

From  that  on  the  game  see-sawed  inning  by  inn- 
ing, Ken  outpitching  Salisbury,  but  neither  team 
scored.  At  intervals  cheers  marked  the  good 
plays  of  both  teams,  and  time  and  again  the  work 
of  the  pitchers  earned  applause.  The  crowd 
seemed  to  be  holding  back,  and  while  they  waited 
for  the  unexpected  the  short,  sharp  innings  slipped 
by. 

Trace  for  Wayne  led  off  in  the  seventh  with  a 
safe  fly  over  short.  Ken,  attempting  to  sacrifice, 
rolled  a  little  bunt  down  the  third-base  line  and 
beat  the  throw.  With  no  one  out  and  the  head  of 
the  batting  list  up,  the  Wayne  players  awoke  to 
possibilities.  The  same  fiery  intensity  that  had 
characterized  their  play  all  season  now  manifested 
itself.  They  were  all  on  their  feet,  and  Weir  and 
McCord  on  the  coaching  lines  were  yelling  hoarsely 
at  Salisbury,  tearing  up  the  grass  with  their  spikes, 
dashing  to  and  fro,  shouting  advice  to  the  runners. 

"Here's  where  we  score!  Oh!  you  pitcher' 
We're  due  to  trim  you  now!  Steady,  boys,  play  it 
safe,  play  it  safe!— don't  let  them  double  you!" 

208 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

Up  by  the  bench  Homans  was  selecting  a  bat. 

"Worry,  Fd  better  dump  one,"  he  whispered. 

"That's  the  trick,"  replied  the  coach.  "Ad- 
vance them  at  any  cost.  There's  Reddy  to 
follow." 

The  reliable  Salisbury  rolled  the  ball  in  his 
hands,  feinted  to  throw  to  the  bases,  and  showed 
his  steadiness  under  fire.  He  put  one  square 
over  for  Homans  and  followed  it  upon  the  run. 
Homans  made  a  perfect  bunt,  but  instead  of  going 
along  either  base  line,  it  went  straight  into  the 
pitcher's  hands.  Salisbury  whirled  and  threw  to 
Prince,  who  covered  the  bag,  and  forced  Trace. 
One  out  and  still  two  runners  on  bases.  The 
crowd  uttered  a  yell  and  then  quickly  quieted 
down.  Raymond  bent  low  over  the  plate  and 
watched  Salisbury's  slightest  move.  He  bunted 
the  first  ball,  and  it  went  foul  over  the  third-base 
line.  He  twisted  the  second  toward  first  base, 
and  it,  too,  rolled  foul.  And  still  he  bent  low  as 
if  to  bunt  again.  The  infield  slowly  edged  in 
closer.  But  Raymond  straightened  up  on  Salis- 
bury's next  pitch  and  lined  the  ball  out.  Prince 
leaped  into  the  air  and  caught  the  ball  in  his 
gloved  hand.  Homans  dove  back  into  first  base; 
likewise  Ken  into  second,  just  making  it  in  the 
nick  of  time,  for  Martin  was  on  the  run  to  com- 
plete a  possible  double  play.  A  shout  at  once 
hoarse  and  shrill  went  up,  and  heavy  clattering 

209 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

thunder  rolled  along  the  floor  of  the  bleachers. 
Two  out  and  still  two  men  on  bases. 

If  there  was  a  calm  person  on  Place  Field  at 
that  moment  it  was  Reddy  Ray,  but  his  eyes 
glinted  like  sparks  as  he  glanced  at  the  coach. 

"Worry,  I'll  lace  one  this  time,"  he  said,  and 
strode  for  the  plate. 

Weir  and  McCord  were  shrieking:  "Oh,  look 
who's  up!  Oh-h!  Oh-h!  Play  it  safe,  boys!" 

"Watch  him  run!" 

That  came  from  the  same  deep-chested  in- 
dividual who  had  before  hinted  of  the  sprinter's 
fleetness,  and  this  time  the  Wayne  players  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  Murray.  How  hopeful  and 
thrilling  the  suggestion  was,  coming  from  him! 

The  Place  infield  trotted  to  deep  short-field; 
the  outfielders  moved  out  and  swung  around  far 
to  the  right.  Salisbury  settled  down  in  the  box 
and  appeared  to  put  on  extra  effort  as  he  de- 
livered the  ball.  It  was  wide.  The  next  also 
went  off"  the  outside  of  the  plate.  It  looked  as  if 
Salisbury  meant  to  pass  Reddy  to  first.  Then 
those  on  the  bench  saw  a  glance  and  a  nod  pass 
between  Reddy  Ray  and  Coach  Arthurs.  Again 
Salisbury  pitched  somewhat  to  the  outside  of  the 
plate,  but  this  time  Reddy  stepped  forward  and 
swung. 

Crack! 

Swift  as  an  arrow  and  close  to  the  ground  the 
210 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

ball  shot  to  left  field.  Starke  leaped  frantically 
to  head  it  off,  and  as  it  took  a  wicked  bound  he 
dove  forward  head  first,  hands  outstretched,  and 
knocked  it  down.  But  the  ball  rolled  a  few  yards, 
and  Starke  had  to  recover  from  his  magnificent 
effort. 

No  one  on  the  field  saw  Ward  and  Homans 
running  for  the  plate.  All  eyes  were  on  the  gray, 
flitting  shadow  of  a  sprinter.  One  voice  only, 
and  that  was  Murray's,  boomed  out  in  the  silence. 
When  Reddy  turned  second  base  Starke  reached 
the  ball  and  threw  for  third.  It  was  a  beautiful 
race  between  ball  and  runner  for  the  bag.  As 
Reddy  stretched  into  the  air  in  a  long  slide  the 
ball  struck  and  shot  off  the  ground  with  a  glanc- 
ing bound.  They  reached  the  base  at  the  same 
time.  But  Griffith,  trying  to  block  the  runner, 
went  spinning  down,  and  the  ball  rolled  toward  the 
bleachers.  Reddy  was  up  and  racing  plateward 
so  quickly  that  it  seemed  he  had  not  been  momen- 
tarily checked.  The  few  Wayne  rooters  went  wild. 

"Three  runs!"  yelled  the  delirious  coaches. 
Weir  was  so  overcome  that  he  did  not  know  it  was 
his  turn  at  bat.  When  called  in  he  hurried  to 
the  plate  and  drove  a  line  fly  to  centre  that  Keene 
caught  only  after  a  hard  run. 

Ken  Ward  rose  from  the  bench  to  go  out  on  the 
diamond.  The  voices  of  his  comrades  sounded 
far  away,  as  voices  in  a  dream. 

211 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

"Three  to  the  good  now,  Ward!  It's  yours  P 
said  Captain  Homans. 

"Only  nine  more  batters!  Peg,  keep  your  feet 
leaded!"  called  Reddy  Ray. 

"It's  the  seventh,  and  Place  hasn't  made  a  safe 
hit!  Oh,  Ken!"  came  from  Raymond. 

So  all  the  boys  vented  their  hope  and  trust  in 
their  pitcher. 

There  was  a  mist  before  Ken's  eyes  that  he 
could  not  rub  away.  The  field  blurred  at  times. 
For  five  innings  after  the  first  he  had  fought  some 
unaccountable  thing.  He  had  kept  his  speed,  his 
control,  his  memory  of  batters,  and  he  had  pitched 
magnificently.  But  something  had  hovered  over 
him,  and  had  grown  more  tangible  as  the  game 
progressed.  There  was  a  shadow  always  before 
his  sight. 

In  the  last  of  the  seventh,  with  Keene  at  bat, 
Ken  faced  the  plate  with  a  strange  unsteadiness 
and  a  shrinking  for  which  he  hated  himself. 
What  was  wrong  with  him  ?  Had  he  been  taken 
suddenly  ill  ?  Anger  came  to  his  rescue,  and  he 
flung  himself  into  his  pitching  with  fierce  ardor. 
He  quivered  with  a  savage  hope  when  Keene 
swung  ineffectually  at  the  high  in-shoot.  He 
pitched  another  and  another,  and  struck  out  the 
batter.  But  now  it  meant  little  to  see  him  slam 
down  his  bat  in  a  rage.  For  Ken  had  a  forebod- 
ing that  he  could  not  do  it  again.  When  Prince 

212 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

came  up  Ken  found  he  was  having  difficulty  in 
keeping  the  ball  where  he  wanted  it.  Prince 
batted  a  hot  grounder  to  Blake,  who  fumbled. 
MacNeff  had  three  balls  and  one  strike  called 
upon  him  before  he  hit  hard  over  second  base. 
But  Raymond  pounced  upon  the  ball  like  a  tiger, 
dashed  over  the  bag  and  threw  to  first,  getting  both 
runners. 

"Wull,  Ken,  make  them  hit  to  me,"  growled 
Raymond. 

Ken  sat  down  upon  the  bench  far  from  the 
coach.  He  shunned  Worry  in  that  moment.  The 
warm  praise  of  his  fellow-players  was  meaningless 
to  him.  Something  was  terribly  wrong.  He  knew 
he  shrank  from  going  into  the  box  again,  yet  dared 
not  admit  it  to  himself.  He  tried  to  think  clearly, 
and  found  his  mind  in  a  whirl.  When  the  Wayne 
batters  went  out  in  one,  two,  three  order,  and  it 
was  time  for  Ken  to  pitch  again,  he  felt  ice  form 
in  his  veins. 

"Only  six  more  hitters!"  called  Reddy's  warn- 
ing voice.  It  meant  cheer  and  praise  from 
Reddy,  but  to  Ken  it  seemed  a  knell. 

"Am  I  weakening?"  muttered  Ken.  "Am  I 
going  up  in  the  air  ?  What  is  wrong  with  me  ?" 

He  was  nervous  now  and  could  not  stand  still 
and  he  felt  himself  trembling.  The  ball  was  wet 
from  the  sweat  in  his  hands;  his  hair  hung  damp 
over  his  brow  and  he  continually  blew  it  out  of  his 

213 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

eyes.  With  all  his  spirit  he  crushed  back  the  al- 
most overwhelming  desire  to  hurry,  hurry,  hurry. 
Once  more,  in  a  kind  of  passion,  he  fought  off  the 
dreaded  unknown  weakness. 

With  two  balls  pitched  to  Starke  he  realized  that 
he  had  lost  control  of  his  curve.  He  was  not 
frightened  for  the  loss  of  his  curve,  but  he  went 
stiff  with  fear  that  he  might  lose  control  of  his 
fast  ball,  his  best  and  last  resort.  Grimly  he 
swung  and  let  drive.  Starke  lined  the  ball  to  left. 
The  crowd  lifted  itself  with  a  solid  roar,  and  when 
Homans  caught  the  hit  near  the  foul  flag,  subsided 
with  a  long  groan.  Ken  set  his  teeth.  He  knew 
he  was  not  right,  but  did  any  one  else  know  it  ? 
He  was  getting  magnificent  support  and  luck  was 
still  with  him. 

"Over  the  pan,  Peg!  Don't  waste  one!"  floated 
from  Reddy,  warningly. 

Then  Ken  felt  sure  that  Reddy  had  seen  or 
divined  his  panic.  How  soon  would  the  Place 
players  find  it  out  ?  With  his  throat  swelling  and 
his  mouth  dry  and  his  whole  body  in  a  ferment  Ken 
pitched  to  Martin.  The  short-stop  hit  to  Weir, 
who  made  a  superb  stop  and  throw.  Two  out! 

From  all  about  Ken  on  the  diamond  came  the 
low  encouraging  calls  of  his  comrades.  Horton, 
a  burly  left-hander,  stepped  forward,  swinging  a 
wagon-tongue.  Ken  could  no  longer  steady  him- 
self and  he  pitched  hurriedly.  One  ball,  two  balls, 

214 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

one  strike,  three  balls — how  the  big  looming 
Horton  stood  waiting  over  the  plate!  Almost  in 
despair  Ken  threw  again,  and  Horton  smote  the 
ball  with  a  solid  rap.  It  was  a  low  bounder. 
Raymond  pitched  forward  full  length  toward  first 
base  and  the  ball  struck  in  his  glove  with  a  crack, 
and  stuck  there.  Raymond  got  up  and  tossed  it  to 
McCord.  A  thunder  of  applause  greeted  this  star 
play  of  the  game. 

The  relief  was  so  great  that  Ken  fairly  tottered 
as  he  went  in  to  the  bench.  Worry  did  not  look 
at  him.  He  scarcely  heard  what  the  boys  said; 
he  felt  them  patting  him  on  the  back.  Then  to  his 
amaze,  and  slowly  mounting  certainty  of  disaster, 
the  side  was  out,  and  it  was  again  his  turn  to  pitch. 

"Only  three  more,  Peg!  The  tail  end  of  the 
batting  list.  Hang  on!"  said  Reddy,  as  he 
trotted  out. 

Ken's  old  speed  and  control  momentarily  came 
back  to  him.  Yet  he  felt  he  pitched  rather  by  in- 
stinct than  intent.  He  struck  Griffith  out. 

"Only  two  more,  Peg!"  called  Reddy. 

The  great  audience  sat  in  depressed,  straining 
silence.  Long  since  the  few  Wayne  rooters  had 
lost  their  vocal  powers. 

Conroy  hit  a  high  fly  to  McCord. 

"Oh,  Peg,  only  one  more!"  came  the  thrilling  cry. 
No  other  Wayne  player  could  speak  a  word  then. 

With  Salisbury  up,  Ken  had  a  momentary  flash 
215 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

of  his  old  spirit  and  he  sent  a  straight  ball  over  the 
plate,  meaning  it  to  be  hit.  Salisbury  did  hit  it,  and 
safely,  through  short.  The  long  silent,  long  waiting 
crowd  opened  up  with  yells  and  stamping  feet. 

A  horrible,  cold,  deadly  sickness  seized  upon  Ken 
as  he  faced  the  fleet,  sure-hitting  Keene.  He  lost 
his  speed,  he  lost  his  control.  Before  he  knew 
what  had  happened  he  had  given  Keene  a  base  on 
balls.  Two  on  bases  and  two  out! 

The  Place  players  began  to  leap  and  fling  up 
their  arms  and  scream.  When  out  of  their  midst 
Prince  ran  to  the  plate  a  piercing,  ear-splitting 
sound  pealed  up  from  the  stands.  As  in  a  haze 
Ken  saw  the  long  lines  of  white-sleeved  students 
become  violently  agitated  and  move  up  and  down 
to  strange,  crashing  yells. 

Then  Ken  Ward  knew.  That  was  the  famed 
Place  cheer  for  victory  at  the  last  stand.  It  was 
the  trumpet-call  of  Ken's  ordeal.  His  mind  was 
as  full  of  flashes  of  thought  as  there  were  streaks 
and  blurs  before  his  eyes.  He  understood  Worry 
now.  He  knew  now  what  was  wrong  with  him, 
what  had  been  coming  all  through  that  terrible 
game.  The  whole  line  of  stands  and  bleachers 
wavered  before  him,  and  the  bright  colors  blended 
in  one  mottled  band. 

Still  it  was  in  him  to  fight  to  the  last  gasp.  The 
pain  in  his  breast,  and  the  nausea  in  his  stomach, 
and  the  whirling  fury  in  his  mind  did  not  make 

216 


THE    FIRST    PLACE    GAME 

him  give  up,  though  they  robbed  him  of  strength. 
The  balls  he  threw  to  Prince  were  wide  of  the  plate 
and  had  nothing  of  his  old  speed.  Prince,  also, 
took  his  base  on  balls. 

Bases  full  and  two  out! 

MacNeff,  the  captain,  fronted  the  plate,  and 
shook  his  big  bat  at  Ken.  Of  all  the  Place  hitters 
Ken  feared  him  the  least.  He  had  struck  Mac- 
Neff out  twice,  and  deep  down  in  his  heart  stirred 
a  last  desperate  rally.  He  had  only  to  keep  the 
ball  high  and  in  close  to  win  this  game.  Oh! 
for  the  control  that  had  been  his  pride! 

The  field  and  stands  seemed  to  swim  round 
Ken  and  all  he  saw  with  his  half-blinded  eyes  was 
the  white  plate,  the  batter,  and  Dean  and  the 
'umpire.  Then  he  took  his  swing  and  delivered  the 
ball. 

It  went  true.     MacNeff  missed  it. 

Ken  pitched  again.  The  umpire  held  up  one 
finger  o\  each  hand.  One  ball  and  one  strike. 
Two  more  rapid  pitches,  one  high  and  one  wide. 
Two  strikes  and  two  balls. 

Ken  felt  his  head  bursting  and  there  were  glints 
of  red  before  mV  eyes.  He  bit  his  tongue  to  keep 
it  from  lolling  out.  He  was  almost  done.  That 
ceaseless,  infernal  din  had  benumbed  his  being. 
With  a  wrenching  of  his  shoulder  Ken  flung  up 
another  ball.  MacNeff  leaned  over  it,  then  let 
it  go  by. 

217 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Three  and  two! 

It  was  torture  for  Ken.  He  had  the  game  in  his 
hands,  yet  could  not  grasp  it.  He  braced  himself 
for  the  pitch  and  gave  it  all  he  had  left  in  him. 

"Too  low!"  he  moaned.  MacNeff  killed  low 
balls. 

The  big  captain  leaped  forward  with  a  terrific 
swing  and  hit  the  ball.  It  lined  over  short,  then 
began  to  rise,  shot  over  Homans,  and  soared  far 
beyond,  to  drop  and  roll  and  roll. 

Through  darkening  sight  Ken  Ward  saw  runner 
after  runner  score,  and  saw  Homans  pick  up  the 
ball  as  MacNeff  crossed  the  plate  with  the  winning 
run.  In  Ken's  ears  seemed  a  sound  of  the  en  .  of 
the  world. 

He  thought  himself  the  centre  of  a  flying  wheel. 
It  was  the  boys  crowding  around  him.  He  saw 
their  lips  move  but  caught  no  words.  Then  chok- 
ing and  tottering,  upheld  by  Reddy  Ray's  strong 
arm,  the  young  pitcher  walked  off  the  field. 


XVII 

KEN'S  DAY 

THE  slow  return  to  the  tavern,  dressing  and 
going  to  the  station,  the  ride  home,  the  ar- 
rival at  the  training-house,  the  close-pressing, 
silent  companionship  of  Reddy  Ray,  Worry,  and 
Raymond — these  were  dim  details  of  that  day  of 
calamity.  Ken  Ward's  mind  was  dead — locked 
on  that  fatal  moment  when  he  pitched  a  low  ball 
to  MacNeff.  His  friends  left  him  in  the  darkness 
of  his  room,  knowing  instinctively  that  it  was  best 
for  him  to  be  alone. 

Ken  undressed  and  crawled  wearily  into  bed 
and  stretched  out  as  if  he  knew  and  was  glad  he 
would  never  move  his  limbs  again.  The  silence 
and  the  darkness  seemed  to  hide  him  from  himself. 
His  mind  was  a  whirling  riot  of  fire,  and  in  it  was 
a  lurid  picture  of  that  moment  with  MacNeff  at 
bat.  Over  and  over  and  over  he  lived  it  in  help- 
less misery.  His  ears  were  muffled  with  that  huge 
tide  of  sound.  Again  and  again  and  again  he 
pitched  the  last  ball,  to  feel  his  heart  stop  beating, 
to  see  the  big  captain  lunge  at  the  ball,  to  watch 
it  line  and  rise  and  soar. 
15  2IQ 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

But  gradually  exhaustion  subdued  his  mental 
strife,  and  he  wandered  in  mind  and  drifted  into 
sleep.  When  he  woke  it  was  with  a  cold,  unhappy 
shrinking  from  the  day.  His  clock  told  the  noon 
hour;  he  had  slept  long.  Outside  the  June  sun- 
light turned  the  maple  leaves  to  gold.  Was  it  pos- 
sible, Ken  wondered  dully,  for  the  sun  ever  to  shine 
again  ?  Then  Scotty  came  bustling  in. 

"Mr.  Wau-rd,  won't  ye  be  hovin'  breakfast?" 
he  asked,  anxiously. 

"Scotty,  I'll  never  eat  again,"  replied  Ken. 

There  were  quick  steps  upon  the  stairs  and 
Worry  burst  in,  rustling  a  newspaper. 

"Hello,  old  man!"  he  called,  cheerily.  "Say! 
Look  at  this!" 

He  thrust  the  paper  before  Ken's  eyes  and 
pointed  to  a  column: 

Place  Beat  Wayne  by  a  Lucky  Drive.     Young  Ward 

Pitched  the  Greatest  Game  Ever  Pitched  on  Place 

Field  and  Lost  It  in  the  Ninth,  with  Two 

Men  Out  and  Three  and  Two  on  MacNefF 

Ken's  dull,  gloom-steeped  mind  underwent  a 
change,  but  he  could  not  speak.  He  sat  up  in 
bed,  clutching  th#  paper,  and  gazing  from  it  to 
the  coach.  Raymond  came  in,  followed  by  Ho- 
mans,  and,  last,  Reddy  Ray,  who  sat  down  upon 

220 


KEN'S    DAY 

bed.  They  were  all  smiling,  and  that  seemed 
horrible  to  Ken. 

"But,  Worry — Reddy — I — I  lost  the  game — 
threw  it  away!"  faltered  Ken. 

"Oh  no,  Peg.  You  pitched  a  grand  game. 
Only  in  the  stretch  you  got  one  ball  too  low,"  said 
Reddy. 

"  Peg,  you  started  to  go  up  early  in  the  game," 
added  Worry,  with  a  smile,  as  if  the  fact  was 
amusing.  "  You  made  your  first  balloon-ascension 
in  the  seventh.  And  in  the  ninth  you  exploded. 
I  never  seen  a  better  case  of  up-in-the-air.  But, 
Peg,  in  spite  of  it  you  pitched  a  wonderful  game. 
You  had  me  guessin'.  I  couldn't  take  you  out  of 
the  box.  Darn  me  if  I  didn't  think  you'd  shut 
Place  out  in  spite  of  your  rattles!" 

"Then — after  all — it's  not  so  terrible?"  Ken 
asked,  breathlessly. 

"Why,  boy,  it's  all  right.  We  can  lose  a  game, 
and  to  lose  one  like  that — it's  as  good  as  winnin*. 
Say!  I'm  a  liar  if  I  didn't  see  'em  Place  hitters 
turnin'  gray-headed!  Listen!  That  game  over 
there  was  tough  on  all  the  kids,  you  most  of  all, 
of  course.  But  you  all  stood  the  gaff.  You've 
fought  out  a  grillin'  big  game  away  from  home. 
That's  over.  You'll  never  go  through  that  again. 
But  it  was  the  makin'  of  you.  .  .  .  Here,  look  this 
over !  Mebbe  it  '11  cheer  you  up." 

He  took  something  from  Raymond  and  tossed 

221 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

it  upon  the  bed.  It  looked  like  a  round,  red, 
woolly  bundle.  Ken  unfolded  it,  to  disclose  a 
beautiful  sweater,  with  a  great  white  "  W  "  in  the 
centre. 

"The  boys  all  got  'em  this  mornin',"  added 
Worry. 

It  was  then  that  the  tragedy  of  the  Place  game 
lost  its  hold  on  Ken,  and  retreated  until  it  stood 
only  dimly  in  outline. 

"I'll— I'll  be  down  to  lunch,"  said  Ken,  ir- 
relevantly. 

His  smiling  friends  took  the  hint  and  left  the 
room. 

Ken  hugged  the  sweater  while  reading  the 
Times-Star  s  account  of  the  game.  Whoever  the 
writer  was,  Ken  loved  him.  Then  he  hid  his  face 
in  the  pillow,  and  though  he  denied  to  himself  that 
he  was  crying,  when  he  arose  it  was  certain  that 
the  pillow  was  wet. 

An  hour  later  Ken  presented  himself  at  lunch, 
once  more  his  old  amiable  self.  The  boys  freely 
discussed  baseball — in  fact,  for  weeks  they  had 
breathed  and  dreamed  baseball — but  Ken  noted, 
for  the  first  time,  where  superiority  was  now  added 
to  the  old  confidence.  The  Wayne  varsity  had 
found  itself.  It  outclassed  Herne;  it  was  faster 
than  Place;  it  stood  in  line  for  championship 
honors. 

»  you  needn't  put  on  your  uniform  to-day," 
222 


KEN'S    DAY 

said  the  coach.  "You  rest  up.  But  go  over  to 
Murray  and  have  your  arm  rubbed.  Is  it  sore 
or  stiff?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  could  work  again  to-day,"  re- 
plied Ken. 

That  afternoon,  alone  in  his  room,  he  worked 
out  his  pitching  plan  for  Saturday's  game.  It 
did  not  differ  materially  from  former  plans.  But 
for  a  working  basis  he  had  self-acquired  knowledge 
of  the  Place  hitters.  It  had  been  purchased  at  dear 
cost.  He  feared  none  of  them  except  Prince.  He 
decided  to  use  a  high  curve  ball  over  the  plate 
and  let  Prince  hit,  trusting  to  luck  and  the  players 
behind  him.  Ken  remembered  how  the  Place  men 
had  rapped  hard  balls  at  Raymond.  Most  of 
them  were  right-field  hitters.  Ken  decided  to  ask 
Homans  to  play  Reddy  Ray  in  right  field.  Also  he 
would  arrange  a  sign  with  Reddy  and  Raymond 
and  McCord  so  they  would  know  when  he  in- 
tended to  pitch  speed  on  the  outside  corner  of 
the  plate.  For  both  his  curve  and  fast  ball  so 
pitched  were  invariably  hit  toward  right  field. 
When  it  came  to  MacNefF,  Ken  knew  from  the  hot 
rankling  deep  down  in  him  that  he  would  foil  that 
hitter.  He  intended  to  make  the  others  hit,  pitch- 
ing them  always,  to  the  best  of  his  judgment  and 
skill,  those  balls  they  were  least  likely  to  hit  safely, 
yet  which  would  cut  the  corners  of  the  plate  if  let 
go.  No  bases  on  balls  this  game,  that  he  vowed 

223 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

grimly.  And  if  he  got  in  a  pinch  he  would  fall 
back  upon  his  last  resort,  the  fast  jump  ball;  and 
now  that  he  had  gone  through  his  baptism  of  fire 
he  knew  he  was  not  likely  to  lose  his  control.  So 
after  outlining  his  plan  he  believed  beyond  reason- 
able doubt  that  he  could  win  the  game. 

The  evening  of  that  day  he  confided  his  plan  to 
Reddy  Ray  and  had  the  gratification  of  hearing  it 
warmly  commended.  While  Ken  was  with  Reddy 
the  coach  sent  word  up  to  all  rooms  that  the  boys 
were  to  "cut"  baseball  talk.  They  were  to  oc- 
cupy their  minds  with  reading,  study,  or  games. 

"It's  pretty  slow,"  said  Reddy.  "Peg,  let's 
have  some  fun  with  somebody." 

"I'm  in.     What  '11  we  do  ?" 

"Can't  you  think?  You're  always  leaving 
schemes  to  me.  Use  your  brains,  boy." 

Ken  pondered  a  moment  and  then  leaped  up  in 
great  glee. 

"Reddy,  I've  got  something  out  of  sight,"  he 
cried. 

"  Spring  it,  then." 

"Well,  it's  this:  Kel  Raymond  is  perfectly 
crazy  about  his  new  sweater.  He  moons  over  it 
and  he  carries  it  around  everywhere.  Now  it 
happens  that  Kel  is  a  deep  sleeper.  He's  hard  to 
wake  up.  I've  always  had  to  shake  him  and  kick 
him  to  wake  him  every  morning.  I'm  sure  we 
could  get  him  in  that  sweater  without  waking  him. 

224 


KEN'S    DAY 

So  to-morrow  morning  you  come  down  early, 
before  seven,  and  help  me  put  the  sweater  on  Kel. 
We'll  have  Worry  and  the  boys  posted  and  we'll 
call  them  in  to  see  Kel,  and  then  we'll  wake  him 
and  swear  he  slept  in  his  sweater." 

"  Peg>  you've  a  diabolical  bent  of  mind.  That  '11 
be  great.  I'll  be  on  the  job  bright  and  early." 

Ken  knew  he  could  rely  on  the  chattering  of  the 
sparrows  in  the  woodbine  round  his  window. 
They  always  woke  him,  and  this  morning  was  no 
exception.  It  was  after  six  and  a  soft,  balmy 
breeze  blew  in.  Ken  got  up  noiselessly  and 
dressed.  Raymond  snored  in  blissful  ignorance  of 
the  conspiracy.  Presently  a  gentle  tapping  upon 
the  door  told  Ken  that  Reddy  was  in  the  hall. 
Ken  let  him  in  and  they  held  a  whispered  con- 
sultation. 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Reddy,  picking  up  the  sweater 
"It's  going  to   be   an   all-fired  hard  job.     This 
sweater's  tight.     We'll  wake  him." 

"Not  on  your  life!"  exclaimed  Ken.  "Not  if 
we're  quick.  Now  you  roll  up  the  sweater  so — 
and  stretch  it  on  your  hands — so — and  when  I  lift 
Kel  up  you  slip  it  over  his  head.  It  '11  be  like 
pie." 

The  operation  was  deftly  though  breathlessly 
performed,  and  all  it  brought  from  Raymond  was 
a  sleepy:  "Aw — lemme  sleep,"  and  then  he  was 
gone  again. 

225 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

Ken  and  Reddy  called  all  the  boys,  most  of  whom 
were  in  their  pajamas,  and  Worry  and  Scotty 
and  Murray,  and  got  them  all  up  -  stairs  in 
Raymond's  room.  Raymond  lay  in  bed  very  in- 
nocently asleep,  and  no  one  would  have  suspected 
that  he  had  not  slept  in  his  sweater. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dog-goned!"  ejaculated  Worry, 
laughing  till  he  cried.  Murray  was  hugely  de- 
lighted. These  men  were  as  much  boys  as  the 
boys  they  trained. 

The  roar  of  laughter  awakened  Raymond,  and 
he  came  out  of  sleep  very  languid  and  drowsy. 

"Aw,  Ken,  lemme  sleep  s'more." 

He  opened  his  eyes  and,  seeing  the  room  full  of 
boys  and  men,  he  looked  bewildered,  then  sus- 
picious. 

"  Wull,  what  do  all  you  guys  want  ?" 

"  We  only  came  in  to  see  you  asleep  in  your  new 
varsity  sweater,"  replied  Ken,  with  charming 
candor. 

At  this  Raymond  discovered  the  sweater  and  he 
leaped  out  of  bed. 

"It's  a  lie!  I  never  slept  in  it!  Somebody 
jobbed  me!  I'll  lick  him!  .  .  .  It's  a  lie,  I  say!" 

He  began  to  hop  up  and  down  in  a  black  fury. 
The  upper  half  of  him  was  swathed  in  the  red 
sweater;  beneath  that  flapped  the  end  of  his  short 
nightgown;  and  out  of  that  stuck  his  thin  legs, 
all  knotted  and  spotted  with  honorable  bruises  won 

226 


KEN'S    DAY 

In  fielding  hard-batted  balls.  He  made  so  lu- 
dicrous a  sight  that  his  visitors  roared  with 
laughter.  Raymond  threw  books,  shoes,  every- 
thing he  could  lay  his  hands  upon,  and  drove 
them  out  in  confusion. 

Saturday  seemed  a  long  time  in  arriving,  but  at 
last  it  came.  All  morning  the  boys  kept  close  un- 
der cover  of  the  training-house.  Some  one  sent 
them  a  package  of  placards.  These  were  round, 
in  the  shape  of  baseballs.  They  were  in  the  col- 
lege colors,  the  background  of  which  was  a  bright 
red,  and  across  this  had  been  printed  in  white  the 
words:  "Peg  Ward's  Day!" 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  cried  the  boys, 
with  glistening  eyes.  But  Ken  was  silent. 

Worry  came  in  for  lunch  and  reported  that  the 
whole  west  end  of  the  city  had  been  placarded. 

"The  students  have  had  millions  of  'em  cards 
printed,"  said  Worry.  "They're  everywhere. 
Murray  told  me  there  was  a  hundred  students 
tackin'  'em  up  on  the  stands  and  bleachers. 
They've  got  'em  on  sticks  of  wood  for  pennants 
for  the  girls <  Peg  Ward's  Day !'  Well,  I  guess !" 

At  two-thirty  o'clock  the  varsity  ran  upon  the 
field,  to  the  welcoming  though  somewhat  discord- 
ant music  of  the  university  band.  What  the 
music  lacked  in  harmony  it  made  up  in  volume, 
and  as  noise  appeared  to  be  the  order  of  the  day, 
it  was  most  appropriate.  However,  a  great  boom- 

227 


THE   YOUNG    PITCHER 

ing  cheer  from  the  crowded  stands  drowned  the 
band. 

It  was  a  bright  summer  day,  with  the  warm  air 
swimming  in  the  thick,  golden  light  of  June,  with 
white  clouds  sailing  across  the  blue  sky.  Grant 
Field  resembled  a  beautiful  crater  with  short, 
sloping  sides  of  white  and  gold  and  great  splashes 
of  red  and  dots  of  bla<;k  all  encircling  a  round 
lake  of  emerald.  Flashes  of  gray  darted  across 
the  green,  and  these  were  the  Place  players  in 
practice.  Everywhere  waved  and  twinkled  and 
gleamed  the  red-and-white  Wayne  placards.  And 
the  front  of  the  stands  bore  wide-reaching  bands 
of  these  colored  cards.  The  grand-stand,  with  its 
pretty  girls  and  gowns,  and  waving  pennants,  and 
dark-coated  students,  resembled  a  huge  mosaic  of 
many  colors,  moving  and  flashing  in  the  sunlight 
One  stand  set  apart  for  the  Place  supporters  was 
a  solid  mass  of  blue  and  gold.  And  opposite  to  it, 
in  vivid  contrast,  was  a  long  circle  of  bleachers, 
where  five  thousand  red-placarded,  red-ribboned 
Wayne  students  sat  waiting  to  tear  the  air  into 
shreds  with  cheers.  Dale  and  Stevens  and  Bryan, 
wearing  their  varsity  sweaters,  strode  to  and  fro 
on  the  cinder-path,  and  each  carried  a  megaphone. 
Cheers  seemed  to  lurk  in  the  very  atmosphere.  A 
soft,  happy,  subdued  roar  swept  around  the  field. 
Fun  and  good-nature  and  fair-play  and  love  of 
college  pervaded  that  hum  of  many  voices.  Yet 

228 


KEN'S    DAY 

anderneath  it  all  lay  a  suppressed  spirit,  a  hidden 
energy,  waiting  for  the  battle. 

When  Wayne  had  finished  a  brief,  snappy  prac- 
tice, Kern,  a  National  League  umpire,  called  the 
game,  with  Place  at  bat.  Ken  Ward  walked  to  the 
pitcher's  slab  amid  a  prolonged  outburst,  and  ten 
thousand  red  cards  bearing  his  name  flashed  like 
mirrors  against  the  sunlight.  Then  the  crashing 
Place  yell  replied  in  defiance. 

Ken  surveyed  his  fellow-players,  from  whom 
came  low,  inspiriting  words;  then,  facing  the  batter, 
Keene,  he  eyed  him  in  cool  speculation,  and  swung 
into  supple  action. 

The  game  started  with  a  rush.  Keene  dumped 
the  ball  down  the  third-base  line.  Blake,  antici- 
pating the  play,  came  rapidly  in,  and  bending 
while  in  motion  picked  up  the  ball  and  made  a 
perfect  snap- throw  to  McCord,  beating  Keene  by 
a  foot.  Prince  drove  a  hot  grass-cutter  through 
the  infield,  and  the  Place  stand  let  out  shrill, 
exultant  yells.  MacNeff  swung  powerfully  on  the 
first  ball,  which  streaked  like  a  flitting  wing  close 
under  his  chin.  Prince,  with  a  good  lead,  had 
darted  for  second.  It  was  wonderful  how  his  lit- 
tle, short  legs  carried  him  so  swiftly.  And  his  slide 
was  what  might  have  been  expected  of  a  famous 
football  player.  He  hit  the  ground  and  shot  into 
the  bag  just  as  Raymond  got  Dean's  unerring 
throw  too  late.  Again  the  Place  rooters  howled. 

229 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

MacNeff  watched  his  second  strike  go  by.  The 
third  pitch,  remorselessly  true  to  that  fatal  place, 
retired  him  on  strikes;  and  a  roll  of  thunder 
pealed  from  under  the  Wayne  bleachers.  Starke 
struck  at  the  first  ball  given  him.  The  Place 
waiters  were  not  waiting  on  Ken  to-day;  evidently 
the  word  had  gone  out  to  hit.  Ken's  beautiful, 
speedy  ball,  breast  high,  was  certainly  a  tempta- 
tion. Starke  lifted  a  long,  lofty  fly  far  beyond 
Homans,  who  ran  and  ran,  and  turned  to  get  it 
gracefully  at  his  breast. 

Worry  Arthurs  sat  stern  and  intent  upon  the 
Wayne  bench.  "Get  that  hit  back  and  g*»  them 
a  run  better!"  was  his  sharp  order. 

The  big,  loose-jointed  Salisbury,  digging  his  foot 
into  the  dirt,  settled  down  and  swung  laboriously. 
Homans  waited.  The  pitch  was  a  strike,  and  so 
was  the  next.  But  strikes  were  small  matters  for 
the  patient  Homans.  He  drew  three  balls  after 
that,  and  then  on  the  next  he  hit  one  of  his  short, 
punky  safeties  through  the  left  side  of  the  infield. 
The  Wayne  crowd  accepted  it  with  vigor  of  hands 
and  feet.  Raymond  trotted  up,  aggressive  and 
crafty.  He  intended  to  bunt,  and  the  Place  in- 
field knew  it  and  drew  in  closer.  Raymond  fouled 
one,  then  another,  making  two  strikes.  But  he 
dumped  the  next  and  raced  for  the  base.  Salis- 
bury, big  and  slow  as  he  was,  got  the  ball  and 
threw  Raymond  out.  Homans  over-ran  second, 

230 


KEN'S    DAY 

intending  to  go  on,  but,  halted  by  Weir's  hoarse 
coaching,  he  ran  back. 

When  Reddy  Ray  stepped  out  it  was  to  meet  a 
rousing  cheer,  and  then  the  thousands  of  feet 
went  crash!  crash!  crash!  Reddy  fouled  the  first 
ball  over  the  grand-stand.  Umpire  Kern  threw  out 
a  new  one,  gleaming  white.  The  next  two  pitches 
were  wide;  the  following  one  Reddy  met  with  the 
short  poke  he  used  when  hitting  to  left  field.  The 
ball  went  over  Martin's  head,  scoring  Homans 
with  the  first  run  of  the  game.  That  allowed  the 
confident  Wayne  crowd  to  get  up  and  yell  long  and 
loud.  Weir  fouled  out  upon  the  first  ball  pitched, 
and  Blake,  following  him,  forced  Reddy  out  at 
second  on  an  infield  hit. 

Place  tied  the  score  in  the  second  inning  on 
Weir's  fumble  of  Martin's  difficult  grounder,  a 
sacrifice  by  Horton,  and  Griffith's  safe  fly  back  of 
second. 

With  the  score  tied,  the  teams  blanked  inning 
after  inning  until  the  fifth.  Wayne  found  Salis- 
bury easy  to  bat,  but  a  Place  player  was  always 
in  front  of  the  hit.  And  Place  found  Peg  Ward 
unsolvable  when  hits  meant  runs.  Ken  kept  up 
his  tireless,  swift  cannonading  over  the  plate, 
making  his  opponents  hit,  and  when  they  got  a 
runner  on  base  he  extended  himself  with  the  fast 
raise  ball.  In  the  first  of  the  fifth,  with  two  out, 
Prince  met  one  of  Ken's  straight  ones  hard  and 

231 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

fair  and  drove  the  ball  into  the  bleachers  for  a 
home-run.  That  solid  blue-and-gold  square  of 
Place  supporters  suddenly  became  an  insane 
tossing,  screeching  melee. 

The  great  hit  also  seemed  to  unleash  the  fiery 
spirit  which  had  waited  its  chance.  The  Wayne 
players  came  in  for  their  turn  like  angry  bees. 
Trace  got  a  base  on  balls.  Dean  sacrificed.  Ken 
also  essayed  to  bunt  and  fouled  himself  out  on 
strikes.  Again  Homans  hit  safely,  but  the  crafty 
Keene,  playing  close,  held  Trace  at  third. 

"We  want  the  score!"  Crash!  crash!  crash) 
went  the  bleachers. 

With  Raymond  up  and  two  out,  the  chance  ap- 
peared slim,  for  he  was  not  strong  at  batting. 
But  he  was  great  at  trying,  and  this  time,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  he  hit  clean  through  second.  Trace 
scored,  and  Homans,  taking  desperate  risk,  tried 
to  reach  home  on  the  hit  and  failed.  It  was  fast, 
exciting  work,  and  the  crowd  waxed  hotter  and 
hotter. 

For  Place  the  lumbering  Horton  hit  a  twisting 
grounder  to  McCord,  who  batted  it  down  with  his 
mitt,  jumped  for  it,  turned  and  fell  on  the  base, 
but  too  late  to  get  his  man.  Griffith  swung  on 
Ken's  straight  ball  and,  quite  by  accident,  blocked 
a  little  bunt  out  of  reach  of  both  Dean  and  Ken. 
It  was  a  safe  hit.  Conroy  stepped  into  Ken's  fast 
ball,  which  ticked  his  shirt,  and  the  umpire  sent 

232 


KEN'S   DAY 

him  down  to  first  amid  the  vociferous  objections 
of  the  Wayne  rooters. 

Three  runners  on  bases  and  no  one  out.  How 
the  Place  students  bawled  and  beat  their  seats  and 
kicked  the  floor! 

Ken  took  a  longer  moment  of  deliberation.  He 
showed  no  sign  that  the  critical  situation  unnerved 
him.  But  his  supple  shoulders  knit  closer,  and 
his  long  arm  whipped  harder  as  he  delivered  the 
ball. 

Salisbury,  a  poor  batter,  apparently  shut  his 
eyes  and  swung  with  all  his  might.  All  present 
heard  the  ringing  crack  of  the  bat,  but  few  saw 
the  ball.  Raymond  leaped  lengthwise  to  the  left 
and  flashed  out  his  glove.  There  was  another 
crack,  of  different  sound.  Then  Raymond  bound- 
ed over  second  base,  kicking  the  bag,  and  with 
fiendish  quickness  sped  the  ball  to  first.  Kern, 
the  umpire,  waved  both  arms  wide.  Then  to  the 
gasping  audience  the  play  became  clear.  Ray- 
mond had  caught  Salisbury's  line  hit  in  one  hand, 
enabling  him  to  make  a  triple  play.  A  mighty 
shout  shook  the  stands.  Then  strong,  rhythmic, 
lusty  cheers  held  the  field  in  thrall  for  the  moment, 
while  the  teams  changed  sides. 

In  Wayne's  half  of  the  sixth  both  Weir  and 
McCord  hit  safely,  but  sharp  fielding  by  Place 
held  them  on  base. 

Again  the  formidable  head  of  Place's  batting 
233 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

order  was  up.  Keene  lined  to  right  field,  a  superb 
hit  that  looked  good  for  a  triple,  but  it  had  not  the 
speed  to  get  beyond  the  fleet  sprinter. 

Ken  eyed  the  curly-haired  Prince  as  if  he  was 
saying  to  himself:  "I'm  putting  them  over  to-day. 
Hit  if  you  can !" 

Prince  appeared  to  jump  up  and  chop  Ken's  first 
pitch.  The  ball  struck  on  fair  ground  and  bound- 
ed very  high,  and  was  a  safe  hit.  Prince  took  a 
long  lead  off  first  base,  and  three  times  slid  back 
to  the  bag  when  Ken  tried  to  catch  him.  The  fast 
football  man  intended  to  steal;  Ken  saw  it,  Dean 
saw  it;  everybody  saw  it.  Whereupon  Ken  de- 
livered a  swift  ball  outside  of  the  plate.  As  Prince 
went  down  little  Dean  caught  the  pitch  and  got 
the  ball  away  quick  as  lightning.  Raymond 
caught  it  directly  in  the  base-line,  and  then,  from 
the  impact  of  the  sliding  Prince,  he  went  hurtling 
down.  Runner,  baseman,  and  ball  disappeared 
in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Kern  ran  nimbly  down  the 
field  and  waved  Prince  off. 

But  Raymond  did  not  get  up.  The  umpire 
called  time.  Worry  Arthurs  ran  out,  and  he  and 
Weir  carried  Raymond  to  the  bench,  where  they 
bathed  his  head  and  wiped  the  blood  from  his 
face. 

Presently  Raymond  opened  his  eyes. 

"Wull,  what  struck  me?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  nothin'.  There  was  a  trolley  loose  in  the 
234 


KEN'S    DAY 

field,"  replied  Worry.  "Can  you  get  up?  Why 
did  you  try  to  block  that  football  rusher  ?" 

Raymond  shook  his  head. 

"  Did  I  tag  the  big  fat  devil  ?"  he  queried,  earn- 
estly. "Is  he  out?" 

"You  got  him  a  mile,"  replied  Worry. 

After  a  few  moments  Raymond  was  able  to 
stand  upon  his  feet,  but  he  was  so  shaky  that 
Worry  sent  Schoonover  to  second. 

Then  the  cheering  leaders  before  the  bleachers 
bellowed  through  their  megaphones,  and  the  stu- 
dents, rising  to  their  feet,  pealed  out  nine  ringing 
"  Waynes!"  and  added  a  roaring  "Raymond!"  to 
the  end. 

With  two  out,  Kern  called  play. 

Once  again  MacNeff  was  at  bat.  He  had  not 
made  a  foul  in  his  two  times  up.  He  was  at  Ken's 
mercy,  and  the  Wayne  rooters  were  equally 
merciless. 

"Ho!  the  slugging  captain  comes!" 

"Get  him  a  board!" 

"Fluke  hitter!" 

"  Mac,  that  was  a  lucky  stab  of  yours  Wednes- 
day! Hit  one  now!" 

No  spectator  of  that  game  missed  Ken's  fierce 
impetuosity  when  he  faced  MacNeff.  He  was  as 
keen  strung  as  a  wire  when  he  stood  erect  in  the 
box,  and  when  he  got  into  motion  he  whirled  far 
around,  swung  back  bent,  like  a  spring,  and  seemed 
16  235 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

to  throw  his  whole  body  with  the  ball.  One — two 
— three  strikes  that  waved  up  in  their  velocity, 
and  MacNeff  for  the  third  time  went  out. 

Clatter  and  smash  came  from  the  bleachers, 
long  stamping  of  feet,  whistle  and  bang,  for  voices 
had  become  weak. 

A  hit,  an  error,  a  double  play,  another  hit,  a 
steal,  and  a  forced  out — these  told  Wayne's  dogged, 
unsuccessful  trial  for  the  winning  run. 

But  Worry  Arthurs  had  curtly  said  to  his 
pitcher:  "Peg,  cut  loose!"  and  man  after  man  for 
Place  failed  to  do  anything  with  his  terrific  speed. 
It  was  as  if  Ken  had  reserved  himself  wholly  for 
the  finish. 

In  the  last  of  the  eighth  Dean  hit  one  that 
caromed  off  Griffith's  shin,  and  by  hard  running 
the  little  catcher  made  second.  Ken  sent  him  to 
third  on  a  fielder's  choice.  It  was  then  the  run 
seemed  forthcoming.  Salisbury  toiled  in  the  box 
to  coax  the  wary  Homans.  The  Wayne  captain 
waited  until  he  got  a  ball  to  his  liking.  Martin 
trapped  the  hit  and  shot  the  ball  home  to  catch 
Dean.  It  was  another  close  decision,  as  Dean 
slid  with  the  ball,  but  the  umpire  decided  against 
the  runner. 

"Peg,  lam  them  over  now!"  called  Reddy  Ray. 

It  was  the  first  of  the  ninth,  with  the  weak  end 
of  Place's  hitting  strength  to  face  Ken.  Grif- 
fith, Conroy,  Salisbury  went  down  before  him  as 

236 


KEN'S    DAY 

grass  before  a  scythe.  To  every  hitter  Ken 
seemed  to  bring  more  effort,  more  relentless  pur- 
pose to  baffle  them,  more  wonderful  speed  and 
control  of  his  fast  ball. 

Through  the  stands  and  bleachers  the  word  went 
freely  that  the  game  would  go  to  ten  innings, 
eleven  innings,  twelve  innings,  with  the  chances 
against  the  tiring  Salisbury. 

But  on  the  Wayne  bench  there  was  a  different 
order  of  conviction.  Worry  sparkled  like  flint. 
Homans,  for  once  not  phlegmatic,  faced  the  coach- 
ing line  at  third.  Raymond  leaned  pale  and  still 
against  the  bench.  Ken  was  radiant. 

Reddy  Ray  bent  over  the  row  of  bats  and 
singled  out  his  own.  His  strong,  freckled  hands 
clenched  the  bat  and  whipped  it  through  the  air. 
His  eyes  were  on  fire  when  he  looked  at  the  stricken 
Raymond. 

"Kel,  something  may  happen  yet  before  I  get 
up  to  the  plate,"  he  said.  "  But  if  it  doesn't — " 

Then  he  strode  out,  knocked  the  dirt  from  his 
spikes,  and  stepped  into  position.  Something 
about  Reddy  at  that  moment,  or  something  potent 
in  the  unforeseen  play  to  come,  quieted  the  huge 
crowd. 

Salisbury  might  have  sensed  it.  He  fussed  with 
the  ball  and  took  a  long  while  to  pitch.  Reddy's 
lithe  form  whirled  around  and  seemed  to  get  into 
running  motion  with  the  crack  of  the  ball.  Mar- 

237 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

tin  made  a  beautiful  pick-up  of  the  sharply  bound- 
ing ball,  but  he  might  as  well  have  saved  himself 
the  exertion.  The  championship  sprinter  beat  the 
throw  by  yards. 

Suddenly  the  whole  Wayne  contingent  arose  in 
a  body,  a  tribute  to  what  they  expected  of  Reddy, 
and  rent  Grant  Field  with  one  tremendous  out- 
burst. 

As  it  ceased  a  hoarse  voice  of  stentorian  volume 
rose  and  swelled  on  the  air. 

"Wayne  wins!    WATCH  HIM  RUN!" 

It  came  from  Murray,  who  loved  his  great 
sprinter. 

Thrice  Salisbury  threw  to  MacNeff  to  hold 
Reddy  close  to  first  base,  but  he  only  wasted  his 
strength.  Then  he  turned  toward  the  batter,  and 
he  had  scarcely  twitched  a  muscle  in  the  beginning 
of  his  swing,  when  the  keen  sprinter  was  gone  like 
a  flash.  His  running  gave  the  impression  of  some- 
thing demon -like  forced  by  the  wind.  He  had 
covered  the  ground  and  was  standing  on  the  bag 
when  Prince  caught  Conroy's  throw. 

Pandemonium  broke  out  in  the  stands  and 
bleachers,  and  a  piercing,  continuous  scream.  The 
sprinter  could  not  be  stopped.  That  was  plain. 
He  crouched  low,  watching  Salisbury.  Again  and 
again  the  pitcher  tried  to  keep  Reddy  near  second 
base,  but  as  soon  as  Martin  or  Prince  returned  the 
ball  Reddy  took  his  lead  off  the  bag.  He  meant 

238 


KEN'S    DAY 

to  run  on  the  first  pitch;  he  was  on  his  toes.  And 
the  audience  went  wild,  and  the  Place  varsity 
showed  a  hurried,  nervous  strain.  They  yelled  to 
Salisbury,  but  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  could 
have  heard  a  thunderbolt  in  that  moment. 

Again  Salisbury  toed  the  rubber,  and  he  hesi- 
tated, with  his  face  turned  toward  second.  But  he 
had  to  pitch  the  ball,  and  as  his  elbow  trembled 
the  sprinter  shot  out  of  his  tracks  with  the  start 
that  had  made  him  famous.  His  red  hair  streaked 
in  the  wind  like  a  waving  flame.  His  beautiful 
stride  swallowed  distance.  Then  he  sailed  low 
and  slid  into  the  base  as  the  ball  struck  Griffith's 
hands. 

Reddy  was  on  third  now,  with  no  one  out,  with 
two  balls  upon  Weir  and  no  strikes.  In  the  fury 
of  sound  runner  and  batter  exchanged  a  glance 
that  was  a  sign. 

The  sprinter  crouched  low,  watching  Salisbury. 
For  the  third  time,  as  the  pitcher  vibrated  with 
the  nervous  force  preceding  his  delivery,  Reddy 
got  his  start.  He  was  actually  running  before  the 
ball  left  Salisbury's  hand.  Almost  it  seemed  that 
with  his  marvellous  fleetness  he  was  beating  the 
ball  to  the  plate.  But  as  the  watchers  choked  in 
agony  of  suspense  Weir  bunted  the  ball,  and 
Reddy  Ray  flashed  across  the  plate  with  the  win- 
ning run. 

Then  all  that  seemed  cheering,  din,  and  stamp- 
239 


THE   YOUNG    PITCHER 

ing  roar  deadened  in  an  earth-shaking  sound  like 
an  avalanche. 

The  students  piled  out  of  the  bleachers  in 
streams  and  poured  on  the  field.  An  irresistible, 
hungry,  clamoring  flood,  they  submerged  the 
players. 

Up  went  Ken  upon  sturdy  shoulders,  and  up 
went  Reddy  Ray  and  Kel  and  Homans  and  Dean 
— all  the  team,  and  last  the  red-faced  Worry 
Arthurs.  Then  began  the  triumphant  march 
about  Grant  Field  and  to  the  training-house. 

It  was  a  Wayne  day,  a  day  for  the  varsity,  for 
Homans  and  Raymond,  and  for  the  great  sprinter, 
but  most  of  all  it  was  Peg  Ward's  day. 


XVIII 

BREAKING   TRAINING 

THE  Wayne  varsity  was  a  much  -  handled, 
storm  -  tossed  team  before  it  finally  escaped 
the  clutches  of  the  students.  Every  player  had  a 
ringing  in  his  ears  and  a  swelling  in  his  heart. 
When  the  baseball  uniforms  came  off  they  were 
carefully  packed  in  the  bottoms  of  trunks,  and 
twelve  varsity  sweaters  received  as  tender  care  as 
if  they  were  the  flimsy  finery  dear  to  the  boys' 
sisters. 

At  six  the  players  were  assembled  in  the  big 
reading-room,  and  there  was  a  babel  of  exultant 
conversation.  Worry  suddenly  came  in,  shout- 
ing to  persons  without,  who  manifestly  wanted  to 
enter.  "Nothin*  doin'  yet!  I'll  turn  the  boys 
over  to  you  in  one  hour!"  Then  he  banged  the 
door  and  locked  it. 

Worry  was  a  sight  to  behold.  His  collar  was 
unbuttoned,  and  his  necktie  disarranged.  He  had 
no  hat.  His  hair  was  damp  and  rumpled,  and  his 
red  face  worked  spasmodically. 

"Where's  Peg?"  he  yelled,  and  his  little  bright 
241 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

eyes  blinked  at  his  players.  It  was  plain  that 
Worry  could  not  see  very  well  then.  Some  one 
pushed  Ken  out,  and  Worry  fell  on  his  neck.  He 
hugged  him  close  and  hard.  Then  he  dived  at 
Reddy  and  mauled  him.  Next  he  fell  all  over  lit- 

J 

tie  crippled  Raymond,  who  sat  propped  up  in  an 
arm-chair.  For  once  Raymond  never  murmured 
for  being  jumped  on.  Upon  every  player,  and 
even  the  substitutes,  Worry  expressed  his  joy  in 
violent  manner,  and  then  he  fell  down  himself, 
perspiring,  beaming,  utterly  exhausted.  This  man 
was  not  the  cold,  caustic  coach  of  the  cage-days, 
nor  the  stern,  hard  ruler  from  the  bench,  nor  the 
smooth  worker  on  his  players'  feeling. .  This  was 
Worry  Arthurs  with  his  varsity  at  the  close  of  a 
championship  season.  No  one  but  the  boys  who 
had  fought  at  his  bidding  for  Wayne  ever  saw  him 
like  that. 

"Oh,  Peg,  it  was  glorious!  This  game  gives  us 
the  record  and  the  championship.  Say,  Peg,  this 
was  the  great  game  for  you  to  win.  For  you  made 
Place  hit,  and  then  when  they  got  runners  on  bases 
you  shut  down  on  'em.  You  made  MacNeff  look 
like  a  dub.  You  gave  that  home-run  to  Prince." 

"I  sure  was  after  MacNeft's  scalp,"  replied 
Ken.  "And  I  put  the  ball  over  for  Prince  to  hit. 
What  else  could  I  do  ?  Why,  that  little  chunky 
cuss  has  an  eye,  and  he  can  sting  the  ball — he's 
almost  as  good  as  Reddy.  But,  Worry,  you 

2*3 


BREAKING    TRAINING 

mustn't  give  me  the  credit.  Reddy  won  the  game, 
you  know." 

"You  talk  like  a  kid,'*  replied  Reddy,  for 
once  not  cool  and  easy.  "I  cut  loose  and  ran 
some ;  but,  Peg,  you  and  Raymond  won  the 
game." 

"Wull,  you  make  me  sick,"  retorted  Raymond, 
threatening  to  get  up.  "There  wasn't  anything 
to  this  day  but  Peg  Ward." 

Ken  replied  with  more  heat  than  dignity,  and 
quick  as  a  flash  he  and  Reddy  and  Raymond  were 
involved  in  a  wordy  war,  trying  to  place  the  credit 
for  winning  the  game.  They  dragged  some  of 
the  other  boys  into  the  fierce  argument. 

Worry  laughed  and  laughed;  then,  as  this  loyal 
bunch  of  players  threatened  to  come  to  blows,  he 
got  angry. 

"Shut  up!"  he  roared.  "I  never  seen  such  a' 
lot  of  hot-headed  kids.  Shut  up,  and  let  me  tell 
you  who  won  this  Place  game.  It  '11  go  down  on 
record  as  a  famous  game,  so  you'll  do  well  to  have 
it  straight.  Listen!  The  Wayne  varsity  won  this 
game.  Homans,  your  captain,  won  it,  because  he 
directed  the  team  and  followed  orders.  He  hit 
and  run  some,  too.  Reddy  Ray  won  this  game 
by  bein'  a  blue  streak  of  chain  lightnin'  on  the 
bases.  Raymond  won  it  by  makin*  a  hit  when 
we  all  expected  him  to  fall  dead.  He  won  it 
twice,  the  second  time  with  the  greatest  fieldin* 

243 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

play  ever  pulled  off  on  Grant  Field.  Dean  won 
the  game  by  goin'  up  and  hangin'  onto  Peg's  jump 
ball.  McCord  won  it  by  diggin'  low  throws  out 
of  the  dirt.  Weir  was  around  when  it  happened, 
wasn't  he — and  Blake  and  Trace  ?  Then  there 
was  Peg  himself.  He  won  the  game  a  little.  Say! 
he  had  Place  trimmed  when  he  stepped  on  the 
slab  in  the  first  innin*.  So  you  all  won  the  big 
Wayne-Place  game." 

Then  Worry  advanced  impressively  to  the  table, 
put  his  hand  in  his  breast  pocket  and  brought 
forth  a  paper. 

"You've  won  this  for  me,  boys,"  he  said,  spread- 
ing the  paper  out. 

"What  is  it?"  they  asked,  wonderingly. 

"Nothin'  of  much  importance  to  you  boys  as 
compared  with  winnin'  the  game,  but  some  to 
Worry  Arthurs."  He  paused  with  a  little  choke. 
"It's  a  five-year  contract  to  coach  Wayne's  base- 
ball teams." 

A  thundering  cheer  attested  to  the  importance 
of  that  document  to  the  boys. 

"Oh,  Worry,  but  I'm  glad!"  cried  Ken.  "Then 
your  son  Harry  will  be  in  college  next  year — will 
be  on  the  team  ?" 

"Say,  he'll  have  to  go  some  to  make  next  year's 
varsity,  with  only  two  or  three  vacancies  to  fill. 
Now,  fellows,  I  want  to  know  things.  Sit  down 
now  and  listen." 

244 


BREAKING    TRAINING 

They  all  took  seats,  leaving  the  coach  standing 
at  the  table. 

"Homans,  is  there  any  hope  of  your  comin* 
back  to  college  next  year  ?" 

"None,  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  replied  the  captain. 
"  Father  intends  to  put  me  in  charge  of  his  busi- 


ness." 


"Reddy,  how  about  a  post-graduate  course  for 
you  ?  You  need  that  P.G." 

"Worry,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  really  believe 
my  college  education  would  not  be  complete 
without  that  P.G.,"  replied  Reddy,  with  the 
old  cool  speech,  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his 
eye. 

At  this  the  boys  howled  like  Indians,  and  Worry 
himself  did  a  little  war-dance. 

"  Raymond,  you'll  come  back  ?"  went  on  the 
coach. 

The  second-baseman  appeared  highly  insulted. 
"Come  back?  Wull,  what  do  you  take  me  for? 
I'd  like  to  see  the  guy  who  can  beat  me  out  of  my 
place  next  season." 

This  brought  another  hearty  cheer. 

Further  questioning  made  clear  that  all  the 
varsity  except  Homans,  Blake,  and  McCord  would 
surely  return  to  college. 

"Fine!     Fine!     Fine!"  exclaimed  Worry. 

Then  he  began  to  question  each  player  as  to 
what  he  intended  to  do  through  the  summer 

245 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

months,  and  asked  him  to  promise  not  to  play 
ball  on  any  summer  nines. 

"Peg,  you're  the  one  I'm  scared  about,"  said 
Worry,  earnestly.  "These  crack  teams  at  the 
seashore  and  in  the  mountains  will  be  hot  after 
you.  They've  got  coin  too,  Peg,  and  they'll  spend 
it  to  get  you." 

"All  I've  got  to  say  is  they'll  waste  their  breath 
talking  to  me,"  replied  Ken,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  all  summer  ?"  asked 
Worry,  curiously.  "Where  will  you  be?" 

"I  expect  to  go  to  Arizona." 

"Arizona  ?  What  in  the  deuce  are  you  goin' 
way  out  there  for  ?" 

Ken  paused,  and  then  when  about  to  reply 
Raymond  burst  out. 

"Worry,  he  says  it's  forestry,  but  he  only  took 
up  that  fool  subject  because  he  likes  to  chase 
around  in  the  woods.  He's  nutty  about  trees 
and  bears  and  mustangs.  He  was  in  Arizona  last 
summer.  You  ought  to  hear  some  of  the  stories 
he's  told  me.  Why,  if  they're  true  he's  got  Frank 
Nelson  and  Jim  Hawkins  skinned  to  a  frazzle." 

"  For  instance  ?"  asked  Worry,  very  much  sur- 
prised and  interested. 

"Why  stories  about  how  he  was  chased  and 
captured  by  outlaws,  and  lassoed  bears,  and  had 
scraps  with  Mexicans,  and  was  in  wild  caves  and 
forest  fires,  and  lots  about  a  Texas  ranger  who 

246 


BREAKING    TRAINING 

always  carried  two  big  guns.  I've  had  the  night- 
mare ever  since  we've  been  in  the  training-house. 
Oh,  Ken  can  tell  stories  all  right.  He's  as  much 
imagination  as  he's  got  speed  with  a  ball.  And 
say,  Worry,  he's  got  the  nerve  to  tell  me  that  this 
summer  he  expects  to  help  an  old  hunter  lasso 
mountain-lions  out  there  in  Arizona.  What  do 
you  think  of  that  ?" 

"It's  straight  goods!"  protested  Ken,  solemnly 
facing  the  bright-eyed  boys. 

"We  want  to  go  along!"  yelled  everybody. 

"Say,  Peg,  I  ain't  stuck  on  that  idee,  not  a  little 
bit,"  replied  the  coach,  dubiously. 

"Worry  has  begun  to  worry  about  next  season. 
He's  afraid  Peg  will  get  that  arm  chewed  off,"  put 
in  Reddy. 

"Well,  if  I've  got  to  choose  between  lettin*  Peg 
chase  mountain-lions  and  seein'  him  chased  by 
'em  fat-head  directors,  I'll  take  my  chances  with 
the  lions." 

Then  all  in  a  moment  Worry  became  serious. 

"Boys,  it's  time  to  break  trainin'.  I  ain't  got 
much  to  say.  You're  the  best  team  I  ever  de- 
veloped. Let  it  go  at  that.  In  a  few  minutes  you 
are  free  to  go  out  to  the  banquets  and  receptions, 
to  all  that's  waitin'  for  you.  And  it  will  be  great. 
To-morrow  you  will  be  sayin'  good-bye  to  me  and 
to  each  other  and  scatterin'  to  your  homes.  But 
let's  not  forget  each  other  and  how  we  plugged 

247 


THE    YOUNG    PITCHER 

this  year.  Sure,  it  was  only  baseball,  but,  after 
all,  I  think  good,  hard  play,  on  the  square  and 
against  long  odds,  will  do  as  much  for  you  as 
your  studies.  Let  the  old  baseball  coach  assure 
you  of  that." 

He  paused,  paced  a  few  steps  to  and  fro,  hands 
behind  his  back,  thoughtful  and  somewhat  sad. 

The  members  of  the  varsity  sat  pale  and  still, 
faces  straight  before  them,  eyes  shining  with 
memory  of  that  long  up-hill  struggle,  and  glisten- 
ing, too,  with  the  thought  that  the  time  had  come 
for  parting. 

"Homans,  will  you  please  see  to  the  election  of 
the  new  captain  ?"  said  Worry. 

Homans  stepped  out  briskly  and  placed  a  hat, 
twelve  folded  slips  of  paper,  and  a  pencil  upon 
the  table. 

"Fellows,  you  will  follow  me  in  our  regular 
batting  order,*'  directed  Homans.  "Each  man  is 
to  write  his  name  on  one  side  of  a  slip  of  paper 
and  his  choice  for  captain  on  the  other  side.  Drop 
the  paper  in  the  hat." 

Homans  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  quickly 
cast  his  vote.  Raymond  hobbled  up  next.  Reddy 
Ray  followed  him.  And  so,  in  silence,  and  with 
a  certain  grave  dignity  of  manner  that  had  yet  a 
suggestion  of  pleasure,  the  members  of  the  var- 
sity voted. 

When  they  had  resumed  their  seats  Homans 
248 


BREAKING  TRAINING 

turned  the  slips  out  of  the  hat  and  unfolded 
them. 

"These  votes  will  be  given  to  the  athletic  di- 
rectors and  kept  on  record,"  he  said.  "But  we 
will  never  see  but  one  side  of  them.  That  is 
Wayne's  rule  in  electing  captains,  so  the  players 
will  not  know  how  each  voted.  But  this  is  an 
occasion  I  am  happy  to  see  when  we  shall  all  know 
who  voted  for  who.  It  shall  be  a  little  secret  of 
which  we  will  never  speak." 

He  paused  while  he  arranged  the  slips  neatly 
together. 

"There  are  here  twelve  votes.  Eleven  have 
been  cast  for  one  player— one  for  another  player! 
Will  you  all  please  step  forward  and  look?" 

In  an  intense  stillness  the  varsity  surrounded 
the  table.  There  was  a  sudden  sharp  gasp  from 
one  of  them. 

With  a  frank,  glad  smile  Homans  held  out  his 
hand. 

"CAPTAIN  WARD!" 


THE  END 


SKIPPY  DARE  MYSTERY  STORIES 

By  HUGH  LLOYD 

Author  of  the 
HAL  KEEN  MYSTERY  STORIES 


Skippy  is  a  young  "detective"  who  keeps  his  head  when 
trouble  starts.  He  learns  the  trickery  of  crooked  men  on 
his  father's  river  barge.  His  experience  stands  him  in  good 
stead  when  he  becomes  an  office  boy  in  a  detective  agency 
and  proves  an  invaluable  aide  to  Conne,  the  great  detective 
....  Fearless,  fast  thinking  Skippy  is  a  hero  well  worth 
knowing! 

AMONG  THE  RIVER  PIRATES 

Skippy  and  his  best  pal — his  father — struggle  desperately 
to  escape  the  evil  net  of  the  river  pirates  who  ply  their 
illicit  traffic  on  the  river  that  is  the  only  home  Skippy  has 
lever  known. 

PRISONERS  IN  DEVIL'S  BOG 

Working  in  a  detective  agency,  Skippy  is  sent  on  his  first 
big  "case".  The  story  of  how  he  brings  a  criminal  to  jus- 
tice, escapes  from  a  house  of  horrors  and  wins  the  praise 
of  the  great  Conne,  makes  breathless  reading^ 

HELD  FOR  RANSOM 

Kidnapped,  and  in  the  hands  of  a  ruthless  gang  of 
crooks,  Skippy  and  the  son  of  a  millionaire  almost  give  up 
hope.  A  thrilling  story  with  tense  drama  in  every  chapter. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


ADVENTURES  in  the  UNKNOWN 

By  CARL  H.  CLAUDY 


Weird!     Mysterious!    Incredible!     Astounding! 

Leap  back  a  million  years  into  the  dark  prehistoric  ages. 
Speed  through  the  dangers  of  outer  space  beyond  the  strato- 
sphere at  a  thousand  miles  a  minute.  Meet  the  grotesque 
machine  men  of  Mars.  Break  into  the  bounds  of  the  Fourth 
Dimension.  You  will  meet  in  these  thrilling,  fascinating 
stories  many  incredible  beings  and  astounding  sights  that 
will  stagger  your  imagination. 

THE  MYSTERY  MEN  OF  MARS 

Seventy  million  miles  from  home !  Three  men — a  daring 
scientist  and  two  adventurous  boys — take  off  from  the  earth 
in  a  steel  and  aluminum  sphere  that  sails  through  space  at 
20  miles  a  second.  On  the  planet  Mars  they  face  destruc- 
tion at  the  hands  of  beings  who  resemble  mechanical  bugs 
more  than  men ! 

A  THOUSAND  YEARS  A  MINUTE 

In  the  world  of  a  million  years  ago — whence  they  have 
been  propelled  by  an  old  professor's  invention — Alan  and 
Ted  find  themselves  pitted  against  the  dinosaurs,  mammoths 
and  savage  ape  men  of  a  lost  world. 

THE  LAND  OF  NO  SHADOW 

Through  a  violet  coil  frame  in  Professor  Arronson's 
laboratory  Ted  and  Alan  leap  into  the  gray  and  terrifying 
land  of  the  Fourth  Dimension.  There  they  are  shadowed 
by  the  ghostly  forms  of  menacing,  bodiless  shapes! 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


The  AIR  COMBAT  STORIES/or  BOYS 

By  THOMSON  BURTIS 

Author  of 


THE  REX  LEE  STORIES 


Zooming  into  the  war  scene  comes  this  new  hero  of  the 
air,  Lieutenant  Rudf ord  Riley,  who  leads  The  Phantom  Five, 
a  group  of  airmen  detailed  for  special  duty  in  the  Royal 
Flying  Corps  during  the  early  days  of  the  war  when  every 
take-off  was  an  impudent  challenge  to  death.  The  record 
of  their  mad  exploits  over  the  front  makes  breathless  read- 
ing, and  their  adventures  have  the  ring  of  truth  in  them 
for  the  author-flyer  takes  them  from  his  own  rich  experi- 
ence as  a  war-time  aviator. 

DAREDEVILS  OF  THE  AIR 

Recounts  Lieutenant  Riley's  adventures  as  leader  of  The 
Phantom  Five  against  the  enemy  in  the  air. 

FOUR  ACES 

As  commanding  officer  of  Special  Flight  A,  Rud  Riley 
and  Jerry  Lacey,  the  Manhattan  Madman,  are  thrown  into 
the  thickest  and  hottest  of  the  air  fighting. 

WING  FOR  WING 

Continues  the  record  of  the  daredevil  young  airman's  ad- 
ventures as  one  of  the  leading  aces  in  the  war. 

FLYING  BLACK  BIRDS 

Stormy  Lake  leads  a  squadron  of  picked  daredevils  called 
the  Black  Birds  against  the  famous  German  Red  Devils  led 
by  Von  Baer. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


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